


PDA

by orphan_account



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: AU, M/M, jpc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oceans apart, and still I love you</p>
            </blockquote>





	PDA

**Author's Note:**

> Started posting this once, accidentally lost it, posting again.
> 
> First McDean fic written autumn 2007, immediately after the airport scenes. It's my version of what happened next.
> 
> Bit of a slog (IMO), bit wordy and some like, some don't. Posting it up here as it is part of my body of fanfic so has its place.

 

PDA

 

 

# 

October 2007

 

 

 

Craig fell listlessly onto the bed. He hadn’t realised just how tiring keeping a charming smile plastered to his face would be; how wearing it was pretending to be merely lonely and out of his depth rather than near suicidal.

 

Funny how he’d been on at his dad, Darren, all the rest of them for the lies they told, for their inability to face up to their responsibilities and now here he was, right up there, proudly keeping up his end of the family business, lying like a fucking champion. God, even Darren wasn’t that much of a sleaze; for a start he was an upfront sleazebag, never pretending to be something he wasn’t, generally happy to put up his hand when he was caught out...

 

He covered his eyes, a strangled, inward groan borne in part by utter mortification and self-disgust his first and abiding reaction to the scorching flashes of memory parading across his mindscape. Here he was coming from John Paul’s bed; meeting Sarah in the Dog, acting like the perfect, perfect boyfriend. And here fucking Sarah with the taste of John Paul still in his mouth, proud that he could make her come so hard, his mind cataloguing the differences between the sounds they each made during orgasm. Here, trying to keep John at arms’ length whenever things got too intense, trying to pretend that it was just sex, that he’d be able to keep a lid on the feelings. Here, assuring John that he was number one, using the other boy’s feelings to control and manipulate him. Yeah he was a Dean alright – an utter sleaze. And maybe the sooner he just accepted that the better, perhaps then he could stop thinking of the boy he used to be and face up to the man he’d become. Perhaps then he would stop pretending that he had any chance to get John Paul back, stop imagining a life where John Paul had forgiven him, where he still thought the sun shone out of Craig’s arse.

 

He turned on to his side, eyes fixed sightlessly on the far wall, wondering just how the hell he’d managed to fuck up his life so spectacularly?

 

**

 

 

He hadn’t even truly registered that he was in another country, embarking on a new life, until the end of his first lecture when a group of girls had approached him, bold, teasing, their accents sounding to his ear like the chattering of exotic birds. He didn’t know why but it was at that point that something had seemed to snap into place. Maybe it was because he knew this dance;    
  
_this_   
  
was something he knew how to do. He’d responded effortlessly, the smile the first genuine one he’d had since arriving in Dublin 5 weeks earlier, deciding that if he was going to genuinely take steps into trying to put the past behind him now was as good a time to start as any.

 

 

**

 

 

“I’m worried about him.”

Myra looked up into her oldest daughter’s face. “I know, love. Me too.”

“He’s putting on a brave face, but…”

“I know.” With a sigh, she rested the shirt she’d been folding on the side of the ironing board. “But as much as we want to, there isn’t much we can do, Jacqui. No cure for a broken heart except time.”

Jacqui regarded Myra with her usual solemnity. “So you accept that he was in love with Craig then?”

With a snort her mother left the kitchen and joined her on the sofa. “You’d have to be to go through everything our John Paul’s been through for that boy.”

“It’s just that- Look, mum, I know that you’re not as okay with all this – our John Paul being gay - as you make out. I know it’s because he’s the apple of your eye that you’ve pretended to be alright but you’re not and we both know it.”

The two women shared a long look. Jacqui had always been her favourite child until John Paul came along and even that was different. John Paul was always going to be special: the only boy, sensitive and intelligent, but still a McQueen at heart, certainly not a walkover! And they all adored him, but for all that JP was the apple of her eye Jacqui, Jacqui had that special place in her heart that only a first child could ever occupy. They’d been through so much together and though, like all children eventually do, her girl had hurt and disappointed her, they still had a special bond that no amount of grief and disappointment was going to break.

“I had so much planned for him, Jacq - university, good job, meet a nice girl, few kids later on… and in a way – and I know it’s wrong of me - I _still_ want that for him. I can’t help believing he’s going to come to his senses before too long and want that for himself too. So god forgive me, I’m glad this happened – with Craig, I mean – that he begins to see how… wrong… these relationships are, how there’s no security, no way of making Craig be with him if he decides he wants more than a -- well you know what I mean. I mean I know he’s in bits right now and he’s my boy, my heart’s breaking for him, but maybe when he’s had time to think this through, realise that Craig wasn’t right for him… Well maybe he’ll realise _more_ than that too.”

Another silence, the soft hiss of the iron she’d neglected to unplug the only sound in the room.

“Mum, John Paul’s gay. He’s never going to want what _you_ want for him - not the nice girl, the nice house the 2.5 kids. No, no listen, listen, mum.” She took hold of her mother’s hands and held her with the force of her gaze. “You can’t do this – not now. What he needs is our support – our full support - and that means accepting his sexuality as something that’s not going to change, same way that the colour of his eyes aren’t going to change. It’s _him_ , mum; being gay is what John Paul is. It’s not like…” She considered for a moment. “It’s not like him being a dj, something he probably won’t be in ten years time. It’s something that’s a part of him, something he’s going to be forever and ever. You accept that us girls are going to be into guys for the rest of our lives, well, so’s John Paul.”

Myra didn’t reply, but dropped her gaze and after a minute her daughter relaxed her grip a little. “Mum, his love for Craig is just as real, just as painfully real as me and Tony, Tina and Dom. You can’t downgrade it just cos it’s two guys, and for all you love him and want to help him through this you can’t do that if you don’t    
  
_accept_   
  
that. He needs his mam right now – more than ever.” A squeeze of her mother’s hands. “You don’t have to do anything more than be there, love him,    
  
_accept_   
  
him. John Paul being John- Paul he’ll work the rest out for himself.”

Myra searched her daughter’s face, then hugged her, fighting to keep the tears at bay. “I just wish…”

Jacqui kissed her mother’s hair, tears stinging her own eyes. “I know, mum. I know.”

 

**

 

Well he had to admit that the workload was pretty tough, but he actually preferred it that way: he needed the structure and all in all the less leisure time he had the better he liked it.

Still he wasn’t about to pretend that the first few weeks at TCD hadn’t had him wondering what the hell he’d got himself into; that every day hadn’t been a long inward scream culminating every might in a resolve to chuck it all in and crawl back to Chester, tail between his legs. Yet each morning that dawned had had him feeling incrementally more resigned; incrementally less inclined to ever crawl anywhere again! It was one thing to admit that he’d made a tit of himself, quite another to try to pick up the pieces back there.

No, Chester was the past, Sarah and John Paul too.

Looking back he could see that he’d always made Trinity a sort of talisman; a symbol of that great life he was going to have at some unspecified point in the future. And he’d made it, here against all the odds, and what was he doing? No it was time to stump up: he was here at the start of the rest of his life and this time he was going to get it right.

 

He’d struck up a few casual friendships and that was something: he’d never been good at making friends, so unsure of himself that he inevitably came across as stuck up and stand-offish. It seemed to him that whenever people looked at him, heard his London accent they immediately categorised him, expecting cockiness, over the top confidence. Well that wasn’t him, never had been and he was determined that here in Dublin he’d get a chance to simply be Craig. How long since he’d simply been Craig – no masks, no games, no trying to live up to – or down to – other people’s expectations? Well here he was and if the punters didn’t like it well they knew what they could do. Not that he’d formed a particularly unfavourable impression of the students he’d met so far. None of them had been English: mostly Irish, a few Europeans, even fewer Africans and Asians, but that had been sort of refreshing - different accents, different attitudes.

It was pretty weird that he hadn’t ever thought of John Paul as being Irish in any way. He found himself grinning as he remembered John Paul’s disgusted confession that he hadn’t been named for Lennon and McCartney – not that it had even occurred to Craig to assume that he had - but for the Pope. Oh teasing him about that one hadn’t ever got old…

And maybe, just maybe, given sufficient time and distance – and will - the mere thought of him wouldn’t choke him up; hearing the name John wouldn’t make him freeze or blush like a mad man.

Yeah in time…

 

 

**

 

In the end he’d given himself a target: find a university, any university as long as it was at least two hundred miles from Chester, preferably more, and do whatever it took to get in. He knew he’d left it late, knew that he stood little chance of finding a course he liked at a university that’d take him on at this late stage but he was going to – that wasn’t in question. He just had to get away, not only from Sarah, Hannah and Craig’s family but from    
  
_his_   
  
family too. They’d been supportive but he could tell that they thought he was a knob - getting everything he’d said he wanted so spectacularly and then just throwing it away. And he agreed: he was a knob, a stupid, brainless knob. He was never going to find another Craig, didn’t matter what they all thought about schoolboy crushes and the rest of it. He knew it was real, knew that Craig was the love of his life, no matter who and what came after. He’d given up expecting any of them to understand, not just because he was gay and they didn’t really see those sort of feelings as having the same legitimacy as ‘proper’ - read heterosexual - relationships, but because of his age and lack of experience. And yeah he could see where they were coming from but the fact is they were wrong and he no longer had the energy to keep trying to convince them. And anyway, it was long past time to leave the nest. He’d been banging on about getting away forever; time to actually    
  
_do_   
  
it.

So he’d demanded a day to himself, told his mum he’d pay the phone bill and spent a frustrating half day actually doing it…

He had never even considered Wales, but when he’d read the P.R had started nodding to himself, getting really excited about the course, even excited at the prospect of canoeing and mountaineering…

And Aber guaranteed every first year student a place in the Halls of Residence so that was a load taken off his mind, unlike Craig who was probably paying through the nose for a substandard flat a few miles from the uni. But damn it he wasn’t going to think about him, not now, not now he was actually making an effort to move on. Craig was the past and would be made to stay there, even if John Paul had to resort to hypnosis to ensure it. His pride would never allow that though and his slightly masochistic streak demanded that he hurt, hurt and hurt until he was numb and eventually started not caring any more. No he wouldn’t take pills, wouldn’t seek artificial means to feel better about this. His mum was right – only time had any hope of getting him where he needed to be. Time and maybe meeting someone else – someone as unlike Craig as he could possibly find...

**

 

 

December 2007

 

 

Okay Jake was right to call him a thoughtless wanker – he was a thoughtless, selfish, cowardly wanker, too chicken to face his worse nightmare even for his mother’s sake. He’d run away and left her to pick up the pieces; put a brave face on it though he knew she must be rigid with mortification. First he'd binned Sarah, the perfect girlfriend/wife, for his best mate only to have the best mate jilt him at the figurative altar and let everyone know what had happened by the plain and simple fact that Craig was in Dublin and he, John Paul was not. Craig was pretty sure that the tight-lipped (well, when he wanted to be) John Paul would never tell anyone what had actually happened; would never tell anyone that he would have gone anywhere, done anything for Craig’s sake except lie about who and what he was, pretend that Craig was only a mate outside of the bedroom. And he wouldn’t tell anyone that Craig had failed him at the last, hadn’t been able to take that final step, had effectively told John Paul that he wasn't loved enough, not nearly enough to commit his entire future to. No, John Paul would never say any of that, but he didn’t need to – Craig knew, John Paul knew. And it was absurd to assure John Paul that he was loved - loved so much that Craig had, more than once, contemplated ending it all whenever he imagined a future without him - because John Paul had asked for one thing – one small thing (as far as he was concerned) and Craig had refused him, had put himself first in this as he did in all things. And he knew now how it felt to be on the receiving end of that because John Paul, for the first time in their relationship, had put himself first, walked away from what he wanted because he knew that for him it was the right thing, the healthy thing to do. Craig didn’t doubt that John was hurting as much as he was, but he’d do it; he’d stick it out because he was strong like that. Craig had never been strong the way John Paul was. His mum was right; he was like a kid, wanting it all his own way, putting himself at the centre of his own world and expecting everyone else to do the same. And with Sarah and John Paul it had been easy because they had accommodated his selfishness. Oh they hollered and protested but always took him back, always compromised for his sake. And he’d expected that to continue, believing that sleeping with John was enough, saying the words of love – while they were alone together - was enough. He’d been so excited about Dublin; being alone with John at last, making love without having to muffle themselves, one ear constantly cocked for the sound of interruption. He’d looked forward to fucking him at last, going beyond the handjobs and blowjobs, finally getting inside him. And he’d thought that should be enough: no-one needed to know what went on in their bedroom – well they’d have separate bedrooms obviously – but John Paul, John Paul hadn’t been on the same page at all. He wanted Craig to be something he wasn’t, wanted more from him than Craig felt was reasonable and had walked away when it was clear that Craig wasn’t ready to accede to his terms. Had walked away. Walked away. For good.

 

No, it still hurt and Craig hated that – hated that John Paul still had the power to tear his heart to shreds. It was ironic really that the reason he’d finally admitted that he was head over arse in love with John Paul was the fact that he hurt him a million times more than Sarah ever did, ever could. Yeah, okay he was a jealous, insecure, possessive prick but for all he’d been up in arms about Sarah and Rhys, hated her modelling, none of that had come close to how he’d felt about John Paul and Spike. The mere sight of John’s smile whenever he was with Spike let alone the kissing and everything else… And John had gone further with Spike: Craig’d asked him (though it had killed him to do it) and had henceforth banned discussion of Spike (and Sarah) when they were together. While John hadn’t let Spike fuck him he’d done it to Spike and Craig had feared that it would have been only a matter of time before Spike asked and John Paul agreed. He’d wanted to demand that John stop sleeping with him but didn’t have a leg to stand on, not when he was still sleeping with Sarah, but... Well the unvarnished truth of it was that being with Sarah was nothing like being with John Paul. Yeah it was good, of course it was and Sarah was responsive, beautiful, sexy but the intensity just wasn’t there, not the way it was with John Paul. And the weird thing, the thing that killed him whenever he thought about it was that they hadn’t even fucked! They hadn’t fucked, just rubbed off (and if anyone had told him he’d come to love this as much as penetration he’d have wanted them certified). The other big revelation was the incredible pleasure he got from wanking both of them – wrapping his hand around both cocks, teasing, testing, timing it so that he could bring them both off together... He couldn’t believe how good that felt – receiving and doing it too: the feel of John’s cock in his hand, rubbing against his cock – he couldn’t believe how much better than wanking that was – not even in the same league, especially when they added kissing into the mix. It was that intensity again – far more operant in their love making than mere physical pleasure. He needed Sarah, loved and admired her, but John Paul was air and Craig couldn’t breathe without him. He’d get light-headed when he inhaled too deeply, had symptoms akin to suffocation when he had to go without and in the end, despite everything, despite knowing that he could have Sarah, would be forgiven for what he’d done he’d chosen John. Because he was like air, like breathing…

And here he was, learning how to breathe again, breathe unaided, breathe a different    
  
_kind_   
  
of air. It was going to take time but he would get there – had no choice: his entire life stretched dark and unknown ahead of him and at some point he would have to …engage.

First thing though was finding the courage to speak to his mum.

He’d got himself another phone the moment he’d settled in, knowing that his mum wouldn’t phone straight away, would wait for him to make the first move and well, it had just been easier to pretend that he didn’t have a family, that he was a completely free agent here.

He’d easily got a job in one of the local bars and thus wasn’t overly concerned about supporting himself. Not having any distractions meant he could knuckle down to the work. So as it turned out it was actually pretty easy to ignore what might be happening back home. After a while he even managed to convince himself that he   
  
_hadn’t_   
  
changed his number, hadn’t made it near impossible for them to contact him. So when he’d come home in the afternoon after a half day at Uni he almost had a heart attack when he saw who was leaning against the dull green door of his flat.

 

He and his brother regarded each other in tense silence before Craig pursed his lips, deciding to go on the offensive (though he could feel the heat of embarrassed guilt pinking his cheeks).

“What are you doing here? Come to see the queer in his natural habitat?” He roughly inserted the key and pushed the door open, throwing his bag in a convenient corner. It was a small flat but modern enough, clean and comfortable, and he’d quickly come to regard it as home – a convenient bolthole. A bolthole that had just been compromised. What the fuck was Jake _doing_ here?

“Come on, that’s not fair and you know it.” Jake had closed the front door and was standing in the doorway of the living room, eyes doing a quick scan of the room, taking everything in.

Craig snorted but didn’t say anything since he felt that his stance said it all.

Jake sighed, leaned heavily against the doorjamb. “I admit I was a pillock before, but I came to the airport didn’t I? Told you I was okay with you being…” He broke off, his natural honesty clearly unable to allow the lie to fall from his lips.

Craig’s lip curled in righteous satisfaction. “Alright with me being a queer, sucking guys off?”

“Okay, okay that’s enough.” Craig noticed with contempt that his brother looked as though he was going to be sick. “No need to be offensive.”

Craig gave a harsh bark of laughter. “What the fuck do you think me and John Paul did when we were in bed together? Hold hands? Sorry brov, we did a little more than that and no matter how much you don’t want to believe it I did it, okay? I sucked him off and I loved doing it too!”

“Craig,” he protested, but he didn’t seem angry, just hurt, a little weary and it belatedly occurred to Craig to acknowledge that his brother had come to another country to see him, had gone to a lot of trouble and unusually for Jake wasn’t up in arms, wasn’t really shouting his mouth off.

“Okay,” he conceded, taking off his coat. “Sit down. Coffee?”

“Got any grub? I’m starving!”

Craig gave him a weak smile and efficiently set about making beefburgers with beans, eggs and oven chips.

They ate in silence, plates on laps, both staring resolutely at the small tv, relieved that they had an excuse not to talk yet. Craig wondered if he’d have to put him up for the night. The sofa was actually a sofa bed and he knew it was a decent one, having tried it out himself. (He’d had a rush of blood to the head one night, pretty much acting out what it would have been like living with John Paul, how John would have had to sleep on the sofa bed at least a couple of times since Craig, practised liar that he’d become, knew that the best way of maintaining a lie was to ensure that there was an element of truth therein.) So yeah Jake would be fine to stay over - if he wanted to.

He looked over at his brother.

Jake looked much the same, maybe a little tired, just a little under the weather. Craig wondered if this had anything to do with him. “So what do you think of Dublin then?”

Jake allowed his eyes to rest briefly on his brother’s face. “S’okay,” he shrugged. “Changed a bit since I was here last.”

“Yeah? What, more fit girls?”

His brother grinned. “Now, now this is a married man you’re talking to. Not allowed to do more than …appreciate the scenery. Nance would make my life hell if she thought I was doing more than    
  
_look_   
  
.”

Craig laughed. “I know. Sarah was-” He broke off abruptly and an embarrassed silence descended on the room. He hadn’t really thought of Sarah in months and yet here he was not only talking about her but about Nancy too. Given a few moments more would he have talked about Spike, John Paul?

This is why he didn’t need this; didn’t need Jake here bringing the past to his door; disarranging his well ordered façade of normality.

He sat in silence, determined not to overreact the way he wanted to, the way he would have done only a few months before.

Jake was a fly in his pristine ointment that was for sure but still, he was Craig’s brother and he loved him, would have been over the moon to see him in normal circumstances and he made an effort to keep this in mind.

Jake, for his part, seemed mortified and fidgeted restlessly, eyes fixed almost desperately on the tv screen, yet Craig knew his brother well enough to see that he wasn’t going to sit still for long – he’d come here for a reason and wasn’t about to beat around the bush forever. Well, good, that meant that Craig wouldn’t have to make all the running then.

He sat back and concentrated on the tv.

It was only when the credits rolled that with a sigh Jake sat back in his seat, clearly having reached that point. “Mum misses you.”

“Yeah,” was the lame response, but what was he supposed to say to a statement like that?

Jake’s eyes hardened. “Yes, mate, she does. It’s been what, two months since you got here? And in all that time not a word. You change your number; your boyfriend comes mincing back-“

“Hey!” he protested, jumping up and looming threateningly over the other man. “Don’t you-“

“What?” Jake stood too, dark eyes flashing. “Don’t what, take his name in vain? Tell it like it is? You gave up your fucking life, your entire golden future for that wanker and he comes back, leaving you to face all this,” He made an expansive, eloquent gesture, “by yourself, all alone, cut off from your family, your girlfriend-“

“Sarah?” He was agog. “Sarah? You still think she’d have me back after everything?”

Jake put his hands firmly on Craig’s shoulders, adopting an expression of solemn sincerity. “I    
  
_know_   
  
she would mate. She and mum have got really close. She wants you, Craig, now that …things... have changed. What we thought… she could come over here for a weekend or something, give yourselves some time to thrash things out. And then you could maybe move to Liverpool – yeah I know, but… Or Manchester, London even. Just make a new start, just the two of you, away from everything. We’re all prepared to stump up whatever cash you need.” He looked around the flat. “And this could use a woman’s touch.” He chuckled. “And you know Sarah’s not going to have any trouble getting a job so you’d be set, concentrate on your studies without worrying about housework or money.” He was examining Craig’s face. “You really landed on your feet with that one, mate.” He followed Craig down to the sofa where his weakened legs had forced him to sit. “She loves the fucking marrow of you, which    
  
_doesn’t_   
  
mean you can keep fucking around on her. Just take the second chance you’ve been given and talk to her.” 

Craig didn’t know what to say; this was the last thing he’d expected to have to deal with. “So everyone’s okay with everything?” he asked in a weak voice.

“Well I wouldn’t say okay and I wouldn’t say everyone, but getting there, yeah. But you wouldn’t be expected to come home – she’s coming to you. She’s taken on her dad – the whole village - for you, mate, which is more than we can say for your… boyfriend.”

Craig looked sharply up at him. “John Paul? What, what do you mean?”

“Well he’s scarpered ain’t he? Done a fucking runner. Not that I blame him. First decent thing he’s done. Steady on, mate, that bloody hurts.”

Craig ignored this, pretty much unaware that his fingers were digging into the muscle of his brother’s arm. “Where? Where’s he gone?”

“How the hell should I know? I don’t give a toss what he does.”

“Tell me, Jake,” he shouted. “Fucking tell me!”

“I have told you – I don’t know. Wales I think, some sheep shagging course in Wales.”

Craig sat back, releasing his brother’s arm, considering. Wales; John Paul was in Wales. He somehow couldn’t imagine him in Wales, couldn’t imagine that he’d be happy there. Had he run away, as far as he could, because of Craig? Stupid question, of course he had. “Find out,” he demanded. “Ask his sisters.”

“Not fucking likely.” Jake gave an exasperated grunt. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? Sarah wants you back and the family’s doing everything in their power to erase your fucking mistake for you! Don’t you get that, you selfish prat! We’ve swallowed our disgust at your behaviour, Sarah included, and all you can do is ask about the guy that ruined your life. Don’t give me that – he ruined you, _turned_ you. You’ve as much as admitted it yourself. I mean come on, since him has there been any other guys? Exactly. It was him brainwashing you, guilting you into giving him what he wanted. It wasn’t what you wanted – I know it wasn’t. And you should be grateful that he had the decency to stop just short of completely ruining your life. He’s gone, Craig, accept it, get over it. Get on with your life,” he urged, shaking him by the arm. “You made a mistake, you’re a teenager, you’re allowed to, but now be a man and make it right; talk to mum, she’ll set you right.”

Craig looked at him, eyes bright with tears and nodded mutely.

 

 

Jake didn’t stay; eager to return now he’d fulfilled his task. He left with Craig’s new number and an assurance that he’d be sure to tell everyone that he was doing okay, wasn’t knee deep in squalor or red-eyed through over work or stress and it had been okay, both of them eager to pretend that all was well, that all    
  
_would_   
  
be well. But all wasn’t well. Craig’s heart, which had slowly been getting used to the idea of getting over John Paul had just had the half formed scab ripped away, exposing the still raw, still tender wound. Wales, John was in Wales. He’d left home, hadn’t stayed close to Chester, but had opted to get as far as he could from the village. Just like Craig had done. He didn’t know why that fact made him feel better – not like Trinity hadn’t been a sheer happy coincidence, offering him, in retrospect, the opportunity to escape his mistakes - but they had a weird connection, him and John Paul and as far as he was concerned this was yet more evidence of it. 

And it shouldn’t be that difficult to find out which Uni he’d gone to. He was sure one of John’s sisters, even his own sister, would help him out. Except… what if John had told them    
  
_not_   
  
to? What if he had really moved on and- and – really didn’t want to see Craig again? The thought seized his newly tender heart and gave a spiteful squeeze. He’d got used to trying to get over John Paul. Why had Jake fucking come here, raking it all up again?

 

Now he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had more information. Even if John didn’t want him in his life, just having information about what he was doing, who - who he was seeing was enough.

And with this he steeled himself, preparing to make a difficult phone call.

 

**

 

He’d met someone the first week; a small, dark Welshman called David. They’d both been attracted though he had to acknowledge that it had been more lust than anything else – on both sides - which is why it hadn’t gone anywhere. Well yeah okay, that had been a factor, but mostly it hadn’t progressed because he wasn’t ready for a relationship, wasn’t anywhere close to being over Craig and wasn’t in the mood to fool himself – or potential lovers – into thinking he was ready to be a whole person, ready to commit except on the most superficial level. And really, David had been a valuable lesson. Sure if he wanted the sex he could probably get it without too much trouble, for while the town wasn’t exactly a hot bed of hot gay sexual opportunities there was more than enough opportunity on campus, and Cardiff was a hop, skip and jump away. Only he didn’t    
  
_want_   
  
sex – he wanted Craig, wanted what he’d had with Craig, which even now he was hard pressed to find the words to adequately describe. He knew he wouldn’t ever have that with anyone else. He and Craig made a very particular, very potent brew and since there was no way on earth that there was another exact copy of Craig there was also no way on Earth he could ever feel that way with anyone else. 

And, he didn’t want to.

Why attempt to recreate that with anyone else? He’d meet someone, of course he would, probably fall in love again too, but he expected it to be different, wasn’t looking to recapture the magic he’d had with Craig. What he’d had with Craig was what it was. It still hurt, would continue to hurt for a long time but in time he’d be able to look back and appreciate the joyful intensity of their brief alone times, the moments when they’d been open and real with each other, willing to be vulnerable in each other’s arms. But he was never going to go there again; never going to hide away,    
  
_pretend_   
  
the way he’d been willing to do with Craig,    
  
_for_   
  
Craig. No, he was who he was and any man who took him on was going to have to accept that!

 

And there were plenty of them: it was like he’d been deposited in a sweet shop and given a huge sack, encouraged to collect as many flavours and varieties as he possibly could. He couldn’t believe the number of guys who were interested in him and what’s more not afraid to be upfront about it! And it wasn’t like he’d joined the Gay Society or wore a pink triangle on his crotch; he just obviously gave off powerfully gay vibes - for those equipped with fully functioning gaydar. And no he wasn’t really interested in casual sex, but flirting was nice, being cruised was nice. Mostly though it was just nice to be in an atmosphere where two guys could obviously be in a relationship and have no-one bat an eyelid. In his more cynical, introspective moments he speculated that it was because of the liberal, permissive, leftist label slapped on students as a species: this was the real reason no-one frowned on inter racial or same sex relationships. He was fairly confident that in their hometown many of these ‘liberal’ students expressed racist and/or homophobic sentiments and thought nothing of it. But since it was beyond uncool to bring those attitudes to Uni, very few did - openly. And that was fine with him since he didn’t really care about anyone’s private thoughts. All he wanted was to be free to be who he was, sleep with whomever he wanted without being judged and so far he was getting what he wanted…

Of course if he’d thought that moving to Wales had meant escaping from his sisters well just put that down to temporary insanity.

**

 

 

He and his mother had finally talked.

He’d had to fortify himself with a stiff drink first of course, but it had gone surprisingly well…

“…and Sarah’s doing well. She went to HCC in the end you know.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t have to pretend interest; the truth was he was interested in her life, sincerely invested in her happiness. You couldn’t like someone as much as he liked Sarah and simply turn that off just because, because things had changed, because you’d betrayed them in the worst way. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her that in some ways he wished that he’d never met John Paul. It was, in fact, probably the truest words he’d ever said to her, because if it hadn’t been for John Paul he could have been happy with her. He knew enough to understand that theirs would most likely have been a very rocky relationship, the way it usually was when two strong, opinionated personalities co-habited, and it might have been on-off, on-off for years, but he thought he would have been happy with her as his wife. 

If it hadn’t been for John Paul.

John Paul had really fucked things up for him it had to be said and at times, even now, he still resented the hell out of him for that. He’d made the choice and it had been the right one, except it hadn’t worked out – John Paul had betrayed him, demanding more than he was ready to give, choosing the worst possible time to stand up to Craig, to call him on his bullshit. Craig had expected John Paul to understand that he had chosen him, that in the choosing had been telling him everything he needed to know about his importance in Craig’s life. Public displays of affection in fucking airports were irrelevant, a complete side issue. Trust John Paul not to fucking get that. And he knew that John Paul had given up on him, knew it in his very bones, and he’d started coming to terms with it, except what with Jake’s visit, his mum’s subtle words about Sarah, the resentment was coming to the fore.

But the bald truth was John Paul was gone;    
  
_he_   
  
wasn’t gay; Sarah still wanted him; his family was prepared to support his relationship with her. Why the hell would he say no?

So when his mother tentatively suggested that she and Sarah come over for a visit the following weekend he didn’t.

**

He wished he had the guts to change his number, but knew that rather than solving his problems it would have the entire tribe descending on him, screeching, shouting the odds, scaring the sheep, so he put up with the daily phone calls, the intrusive, spammy emails. He was short with them, flippant and sometimes a real living bastard, but they were his sisters and nothing short of an apocalypse would persuade them to butt out of his life. Which, when he compared it to other people who had parents they never saw from one week to the next, who’d pretty much brought themselves up and went through life without a support network was pretty okay really.

The thing is, a single room was really too small to contain the personality of even one of his sisters- well, except for Tina, maybe – but four of them?

He didn’t even know why he’d been surprised to find his four older sisters loitering outside his door when he’d returned from a trip to the town centre laden with shopping bags. They hadn’t told him they were coming but they were his sisters and canny enough to understand that trapping the deer required stealth and silence, yeah definitely silence. They’d been making a show of him for years, after all, and had it down to an art – no, a science.

So he merely rolled his eyes and opened the door for them, inviting them to make themselves at home with a biting irony that was lost on them – not that they didn’t understand that he was being ironic just that it was lost on them in that it made no damn difference at all…

Mercedes had much to say for herself, of course: the terrible journey down, the all pervading stench of sheep, the indecipherable accents, the poky hole he was living in.

“It’s not poky.” He protested, incensed. He loved his room: spacious, well-designed, modern, washroom in a little alcove, sturdy bookcase, computer and printer as standard. And the price was fantastic too, considering all that was included. Trust bloody Mercedes to be the bitch - as usual. She’d never been his favourite sister. He loved her, of course, and tough, mouthy scrapper that she was she’d always come fists and gob flying to his defence since he was a puny 6 year old bawling in the corner of the playground after having his lunch money nicked – for the nth time that week. But for all that she’d spring to his aid she was as likely to be the one sticking the boot in as the school bully; taking any excuse to put him down. It wasn’t personal; she did the same to all her siblings, friends and boyfriends too. And he’d never been able to understand _why_ she was such a bitch. She was a stunner, clever enough, assertive, no-one’s doormat so why she had to make herself feel better by making everyone else feel like shit he still couldn’t say and he had given the matter plenty of thought.

“Yeah, shut your gob, Mercy,” Jacqui snapped, shooting her sister a hostile look. Because he knew his sisters so well and understood the unspoken allegiances, threats and compromises that characterised their interactions he surmised that Mercedes had promised to behave and had broken the probably tentative agreement at the earliest opportunity. Well no surprise there; she just couldn’t help herself. Jacqui turned her bright smile on him. “You’ve landed on your feet here, you jammy sod. And you’re looking good too.” She squeezed his hand. “Like you’ve been getting some-“

“Jacqui!” he protested, feeling his face and neck warm with mortification. “That is not something I want to talk about with my sisters!”

“Yeah? Well maybe if you’d talked to your sisters about your love life you wouldn’t have had to run away to the other end of the country-“

“Well to be strictly accurate, Jacq, Wales is another country entirely,” Tina felt obliged to point out.

“Whatever, “ Jacqui dismissed with a wave of her slender hand, her attention still fixed on her brother’s face. “I’m just saying. You got yourself into a mess and we’re just here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, Jacq.” He pulled his hand away, the anger starting to bubble up. When were they going to stop interfering? When he was 64? “I know you’re all just trying-“

“You can’t make us stop caring, John Paul. And you’re a damn hypocrite.” Jacqui’s eyes were hard. “Like you wouldn’t do the same if it was one of us.”

“I know”, he began feebly, already knowing that the argument was lost.

“Exactly. And don’t think we’re making a habit of this. We all had to take a day for this, you know, book a couple of hotel rooms-“

“Get molested by smelly sheep.” A sulky Mercedes.

“Get lost in town.” Carmel sounded like she hadn’t minded this at all and he found himself reluctantly smiling.

“You got lost? Pillocks. How’d you get lost?”

“Someone misread the directions.” Jacqui’s look seemed to be directed at all of her sisters at once, a feat only Jacqui could manage. “But we’re here now. And we’re here because you’re our baby brother-“

“Jacqui!”

“Shut up! You’re the only brother we’ve got and in case you don’t know that makes you damn special - not just to mum. And it’s not like with mum where she doesn’t even really see you properly... Well it’s just love and you’re just gonna have to deal.”

Their eyes held, Jacqui’s fierce and unrepentant, shining a little with the force of her emotion, daring him to be embarrassed, daring him to be dismissive.

Well no, she was right, he didn’t dare. So he initiated the hug and when the others, including Mercedes, demanded their own he went meekly, like a teeny tiny lamb to the slaughter.

 

Well he hadn’t wanted to, but Jacqui was hard to elude when she had her mind made up and clearly she had her mind set on getting him alone and either grilling him to within an inch of his life- which he was more and more starting to think wasn’t really worth living these days – or having a sisterly heart-to-heart which was grilling by a kinder, more innocuous name. She had invoked older sister privilege to get the others out the way, Carmel practically buzzing with the thrill of exploring new shops, new bars, Tina stoic and understanding as always, Mercedes with a right cob on, but impelled by whatever promises she’d been forced to make, shooting the two of them a look that could curdle milk. And then they were alone: him and Jacqui: brother and sister, prisoner and interrogator. She and Tina were the most skilled at getting him to open up but Jacqui, unlike Tina, owed her successes to the scary knowing stare and the fear of her making a show of you when you were least expecting it. And sure he’d left home, was ostensibly beyond their influence, but anyone who’d ever been in a family - which was everyone -knew just how hard those old habits were to break. So he didn’t even bother to pretend resistance, just rolled his eyes and invited her to get down to it.

She didn’t beat about the bush.

“Tell me about him.”

“Oh Jacqui, do I – have I _ever_ asked you about your love life? And besides it wasn’t anything serious, just a one-night-stand. Not that it’s really any of your business.” He folded his arms, annoyed. He’d known what was coming and thought he’d be okay with it, but clearly he wasn’t - not at all.

Jacqui examined him for a long time, blue eyes roaming over his face, mouth a straight, unamused red line. “I meant Craig. If I’m reading you right, anything going on here is just so much fluff. It’s still all about him, isn’t it?”

He closed his eyes, a sharp cold splinter coming unbidden like a knife slipped slyly between the ribs. He said nothing, was unable to say anything.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I thought.” She came up behind him and slipped both arms around his neck. A firm kiss landed on the side of his face. She smelt of face powder and subtle perfume, a scent he’d got used to over the years. He probably knew more about cheap perfume than any guy who wasn’t in the perfumery business had any right to. More about periods, make-up, lingerie and the utter hopelessness of men than was good for him too.

Maybe there really was something in that idea about familiarity breeding contempt. Perhaps half the attraction that the opposite felt toward the other was that sense of mystery. No, that didn’t completely track since he still found the courting female totally incomprehensible. As mates, yeah, no problem but when they started playing that mating game they became opaque and baffling. And he’d seen all his sisters do that – one face for home and another for the man in their life – until they had him safely roped and tied anyway. He couldn’t really understand this and was one of the reasons he’d hated the gay scene so much. His template for love was Craig – being mates with him and then things developing from there. That seemed wholly natural to him, a recipe for love and successful relationship if there ever was to be such a thing – develop a friendship, get to really know each other – more than mere sexual attraction, more than a fairy tale fantasy of the perfect mate.

Of course it was because they had been    
  
_mates_   
  
that there had been such an uproar about it all – male mates. He just couldn’t get his head around the fact that people were so caught up in tradition, fixated on roles and the way things were always done. Even Craig had said ‘you’re not supposed to fall for your best mate!’ to which he’d simply asked ‘says who?’ not being disingenuous or anything, just simply puzzled at that sort of thinking. But Craig had never been on the same page when it came to that sort of thing and if he’d been stronger, less selfish he’d have walked away long before; left the village, left Craig to live the life he was probably meant to have – with Sarah, with the approval of his family, the successful career. But as he’d demonstrated over and over he just wasn’t that selfless, wasn’t strong enough to give up the love of his life even if it was the right, the only thing to do. Even now he honestly still couldn’t believe he had actually done it – given him up, walked away.

“Hey.” Jacqui was staring into his face and it was only her worried expression that brought his attention to the fact that there were tears streaming down his face.

“Oh Jacq, what have I done? What have I done?”

 

**

 

 

 

The very last thing he’d expected on seeing Sarah again was that he’d immediately think of John Paul. It was like he couldn’t see her without also seeing attendant images of John Paul, which obviously made looking at her, reacting to in her in a normal way really difficult.

But she was looking great: impeccably and stylishly dressed as always, unusually shy and timid - at first - which was only to be expected really, but once the nerves left she settled into the Sarah he knew and loved – vivid, confident, vivacious as ever. They – Sarah and his mother - had arrived on Friday and were heading back on the Sunday, which gave them plenty of time to talk things through, see where it took them. The two women were booked into one of the hotels nearby and he’d breathed a sigh of relief, glad that there was no suggestion of either of them bunking down with him. They were still a long way from any of that and he was glad that at least one of them recognised it. It really wouldn’t have surprised him if his mum had suggested that they stay with him and Sarah had vetoed it. Mum could be a bit full on sometimes and Sarah, in general, wasn’t. Well, the engagement but that had been his fault and he couldn’t in all conscience blame her for that one. The engagement shouldn’t have been on the cards in the first place and that, well that was all down to him.

They’d had lunch together on the Friday and had all got on supremely well; then dinner on Saturday which had gone so well that his mum had suggested that they get some drinks in, just the two of them, Sarah and him, and spend the evening together. He’d seen by Sarah’s look that she was more than up for it so he’d enthusiastically agreed, secretly dreading that moment when they’d be forced to talk about the past though he had to acknowledge that it was necessary, in order to see how quickly they’d be able to move forward… He still felt a sick shame whenever he allowed his mind to dwell on the events of the past year. Had it only been a year, a year since he’d met John Paul, started going with Sarah? It felt like a bloody lifetime.

“Steady on, girl!” He nodded at her over-full glass. The one thing he really didn’t like about her was her fondness for the grape. He really hated seeing girls in that state: made them look like slappers. Behave like it too. And yeah it might be unfair but it _was_ different for blokes and well, that was all there was to it. The point is _he_ could get completely rat-arsed but wasn’t likely to end up, boxers around his ankles, being fucked against the sink by some random bloke. Much to his surprised horror this thought had his cock stirring lazily in his pants, but he was saved from dealing with this unexpected turn of events by Sarah’s laughter and playful reaction.

“Oh I’ve got a stronger head now.” She was grinning. “This isn’t going to put me under the table, believe me.”

He raised a dubious eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I think I drank myself sober.” Her eyes dropped for a moment. “You know, after…everything that happened.”

He felt himself cringe but since it had been bound to come up sooner or later, he might as well deal with it right now. So he settled beside her and forced himself not to start babbling abject apologies. He still felt ridiculously guilty, ridiculous not because he shouldn’t have felt guilt but because it was so strong, so all pervasive.

It just didn’t feel particularly    
  
_healthy_   
  
. 

Sarah, after a moment, turned her body toward him, so that her leg rested gently against his. It felt intimate, comfortable, just another evening on the sofa for both of them, their bodies so used to the other that neither of them even really noticed the touch. Her eyes were wide, serious, demanding his attention in the way he’d become used to. “Craig, I know this has to be awkward for you. No, come on, I know you, remember, and anyway you wouldn’t be human if you were completely comfortable with this.” She paused, obviously waiting for his response but when all she got was a sheepish and embarrassed shrugging half smile, she continued. “I’ve never been able to pretend that I’m not still in love with you. And I know that what you did is unforgivable. I know that I should hate you forever, but I don’t. I still love you and I’d like us to try again. We both made mistakes. No, listen.” She grabbed his hand and placed it against her lips, the movement of her mouth as she spoke, softly caressing. “I should have seen what was going on with you. I should have, but I was so full of myself, so focused on what was going on in my own life that I missed it, missed how unhappy and neglected you must have been feeling. Craig I’m sorry. I never got a chance to say it before, but I’m really sorry.”

He stared at her face which looked to be on the verge of crumbling with emotion then pulled her firmly into his arms, more confused at this moment than he’d been for months…

 

 

**

 

“He was the first one I actually had really strong feelings for. I mean I sort of suspected that what I felt for boys wasn’t normal, wasn’t the way other boys felt but until Craig I could still pretend.”

“That you fancied girls.” Jacqui was stroking his hair, the way she’d always done to her younger siblings when she was being affectionate, playing big sister.

He nodded, feeling bunged up and raw from the tears he’d just shed. “I did try, Jacq and there were    
  
_some_   
  
I actually did fancy – sort of - when I was younger-“

“Which doesn’t exactly count. No offence, mate, but even I fancied a few girls when I was younger. Crushes, no more than that. I’m guessing it was the same for you.”

He nodded, too caught up in his own stuff to tease her about this revelation the way he normally would have. “Yeah, when I kissed him it was like this is it,    
  
_this_   
  
is what I’ve been waiting for! Except I was drunk, he was drunk and Hannah blabbed it to the whole bloody sixth form, make that the entire school, soon to be village…”

He saw her try to hide a smile and he pretended indignation but could see why she was amused. In retrospect the entire thing was darkly amusing - in retrospect. “Oh great, laugh it up. It was so humiliating and the worse thing is we didn’t have a chance to deal with it before having to face the fallout. It wasn’t even a fab kiss. As I said we were both shit-faced and I don’t even know how it happened to be honest. It’s kind of a blur.”

“Bollocks,” she said, giving his head a none too gentle push.

“Hey,” he protested, at both the word and the push.

“We both know that you remember every bloody second of that kiss. This is me, your big sister, the one you used to tell all your secrets to. Remember?”

He frowned. “Yeah, remind me if I have my time over again NOT to make that mistake next time…”

“You cheeky article! Remind _me_ not to give great advice to ungrateful, bratty baby brothers.” They tussled for a moment, ending up smiling into each other’s faces. Yeah for all that they were interfering cows most of the time he really was grateful that he had his sisters in his corner.

“And thanks for being here, Jacq. I know I don’t always show it...”

“Oh god I think I’m going to be sick. Just don’t okay? Let’s leave the sentimentality to the likes of Teen and Carm, eh?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Whatever you say, sis.”

“Yeah and don’t you forget it.” They sat grinning at each other for a moment longer then his sister became brisk. “Well let’s get on with this before the others come back.”

His puzzled frown was met with an exasperated sigh. “Craig, love of your life? Remember? You were in the process of telling me how it is…”

“Well there isn’t that much to tell-“

“John Paul,” she threatened and he reluctantly relented. Jacqui clearly thought it would be therapeutic to talk about Craig. He wasn’t so sure, but it seemed more trouble to try to dissuade her from her chosen course, so, as was often the case when it came to his sisters, he did as he was told…

 

 

**

 

Sarah was still lying in his arms. She’d had a good cry and he’d soothed her, rubbing her back, stroking her hair until the sobs had lessened, becoming hiccuping gulps then sniffling light breaths. He’d welcomed the crying jag as it gave him time to order his scattered thoughts. So she was still in love with him, still wanted him, was willing, no,    
  
_eager_   
  
to try again. And what did he think of all that? Blankness, utter, numbing blankness. He should have had some sort of idea how he felt but he didn’t, not really: it was as though some shutter had come down to separate him from that part of himself that reasoned, assessed, made decisions, dealt with situations like this. He simply found himself trying desperately to stave off the panic that he was sure would, sooner rather than later, make its presence felt. What the hell was he supposed to do with    
  
_this_   
  
. Did he want her? Did he want to try again, braid his life with hers the way he’d been well on the way to doing three months ago? Could he honestly do that without the lure of John Paul to make it all worthwhile? Because for all that he thought he loved Sarah, had convinced himself that he did, when it had come right down to it he had cold-bloodedly assessed that since life with Sarah couldn’t now possibly include illicit trysts with John Paul, life with Sarah just wasn’t on…. And really, didn’t that say it all? What was there to think about? Hadn’t he messed her about enough? Why prolong the agony – for both of them? But that was the trouble, wasn’t it? He was just too damn cowardly to face emotional confrontation, especially with Sarah as his opponent. It was as though even deep down, when he’d thought he hadn’t been sure of his feelings, he’d always known that John Paul was the one he’d choose, the one who was the true beloved for all that no-one else, including John Paul, saw it that way and therefore hurting Sarah was agonising since she was essentially already losing out in the battle to be first in his heart. And he was so tempted to make it up to her now in the most foolishly self-destructive gesture of his foolishly self-destructive young life yet some tiny vestige of self-preservation raised its tiny head and told him ‘no!’ So now he was simply waiting, waiting for that same part of his brain to click into gear and tell him exactly    
  
_how_   
  
to get out of this without damaging Sarah even more than he’d already done.

 

He honestly couldn’t think of any way to do    
  
_that,_   
  
though. No way at all.

He became aware of Sarah’s big hazel eyes on him, red-rimmed and questing, for what he couldn’t guess, but he had a feeling that she wasn’t about to get it any time soon. He gave her a reflexive smile and though she returned it, her eyes were still puzzled, not quite happy. “Sorry about that,” she said, reaching into her bag and a second later drawing out a packet of paper hankies one of which she used to dab at eyes, then chin, discarding that in favour of two more with which she dealt with her nose. He politely looked elsewhere until the clean-up was complete. “That was unexpected.” Her voice was bright, but brittle, quite unlike her and he felt his heart sink: this was really not going to be easy.

“Well,” he began feebly, “Not to worry, pretty used to getting covered in snot.”

“Craig!” she admonished, slapping him on the arm, but smiling and he saw that he’d somehow managed to say the right thing, succeeded in lightening the mood against all the odds.

“What? I was referring to Charlie” he protested, rubbing his arm.

“Yeah, sure you were.” She was examining her face in a small hand mirror, apparently preparing to fix the damage.

He watched her for a moment, re-familiarising himself with her face, the large eyes, the lean cheeks, the small delicate mouth. She could have just about any man she wanted and here she was in pursuit of him, the bastard who’d used her, deceived her, abused her good nature. She deserved better, much better and he knew it, even if she didn’t. He knew she deserved better because while he smiled as she looked up at him he couldn’t help admitting to himself that he wished John Paul was the one who was in pursuit, that at the end of the day he wouldn’t give a stuff whether or not he was good enough for John Paul; if he was here, offering, Craig would be on him like a ravenous fox let loose in a chicken coop; he wouldn’t be wasting time in introspective meandering.

“You hungry yet?” he asked, already rising in anticipation of her answer. That’s another thing he liked about her: she wasn’t afraid to feed her face, no nonsense about spoiling her figure or any of that bollocks. Even when she’d been caught up in the modelling thing she still ate like a normal person and he supposed that after seeing what had happened with Hannah and that bitch Melissa she had sense enough to know not to let the not eating thing ever get out of hand. 

And she didn’t let him down:

“Oh Craig, I could murder a bacon butty.”

He grinned. “You and your bacon butties,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her off the sofa. “Come on: make sure I do it right. And I got some brown sauce in just for you.”

She matched his grin and he could feel her happiness radiating out to him. Damn! But there was no hope for it: he’d just have to deal…with breaking her heart – again.

 

**

 

“I know that I don’t have any experience and yeah in twenty years time, after a dozen relationships you’d reasonably expect me to understand that what I felt for Craig was just the first love thing. I know all that and you may well be right. But I just don’t think so.” He gave his sister a serious look. “I’m still in love with him, Jacq. There is not a damn thing that’s changed and if he came strolling in right now I’d take him back without a moment’s hesitation. And yeah I know I did the right thing breaking up with him; for the sake of my sanity, my self-esteem, yeah I know all that, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t regret it every second of every day. I think about him all the time and nothing’s getting easier with time, the intensity of it just isn’t really fading.” His look turned earnest. “Isn’t it supposed to, Jacq? I mean I’ve been with other guys and it’s made no difference. And it’s not like the sex wasn’t good, great even, just like it was when I was with Spike. He was bloody fantastic in bed, better than Craig, technically, but at the end of the day he wasn’t Craig - none of them were - and not one of them comes anywhere close to being what I want.” He felt his chin start to wobble and the treacherous sting of tears begin its all too familiar assault on his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the love of your life?” he demanded plaintively. “Aren’t you supposed to be together for longer than a few months? Isn’t being with him supposed to be so right that all your friends and family are over the moon for you?”

 

His sister bit her lip, but said nothing, simply pulled him into her arms and soothed him as he gave in to his pain for the second time that hour.

 

**

 

Well, that was a day that he never wanted to revisit.

He had finally told Sarah after they’d polished off a round of butties and were companionably sharing a bottle of red.

“Sarah, look.” He’d forced himself to keep his eyes steady on her face. “I don’t know how to say this and I think beating around the bush will only make this worse so…” He took a deep breath, telling himself not to equivocate, to get straight to it. “I don’t think it’s going to work. I don’t know how to say this without hurting you, but it’s the only way to make you understand why I can’t. I’m, I’m still in love with him,” He swallowed and lost his courage as he saw the pain reach her eyes; turned his face, like the coward he was, from the sight of her distress. “I am not over him – not by a long shot – and I can’t see that changing any time soon. You don’t deserve this; I know that better than anyone and I hate myself for hurting you so much. Oh Sarah, don’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He felt his resolve crumble as she sank into herself and started to wail in a way that caused him almost physical pain.

She didn’t push him away as he half expected, too weak with hurt to make the effort, just hiding in his arms until the storm blew itself out.

And eventually it did, following the same pattern as before until they sat together, breathing quietly, afraid to take the next step. It was the chirp of her mobile that forced them to make a move.

She detached herself from him, searched in her bag, examined the display and when her eyes flew immediately to his face, betraying a weird anxiety, he knew who must be on the other end. His heart sank. “Hi, Frankie,” she said cheerily, very much as though a minute ago she hadn’t been sobbing like her world was coming to an end. “Well I was just about to leave actually.” She looked at him, her eyes hardening a little. “No I won’t be spending the night. No everything’s fine, it’s just… not the time, alright?” She listened for a little longer then said: “No, no he’s in the loo. I’ll tell him you called. No, I’ll get a taxi. Craig’ll pay, don’t worry.” She gave a tinkling laugh, which impressed him with its seeming authenticity. “Well we’ll have to see, shan’t we?” and hung up, the smile leaving her face almost immediately. “You will pay for the taxi, won’t you Craig?”

“Yeah of course. Sarah.” He’d started to approach her, but she made a shooing gesture that was very effective as it kept him rooted to the spot, helplessly watching as she made moves to gather her belongings, preparatory to making her exit.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell your mother.” Her voice was cold and she stood watching him with something that looked very much like contempt. He’d seen that same look directed at him several times before so he was pretty confident that he probably could name it if called on to do so.

“I-er-” Yeah, what _could_ she tell his mum? That he’d rejected her _again_ and for the same reason as he’d rejected her every other time? Yeah his mum was really going to be impressed. And Sarah had quite a tongue on her, able to strip paint at a hundred paces, bound really to put a spin on it that would cast everything in the worst possible light. But that wasn’t anything he was able to control so why the hell waste energy fretting about it? So he gave an eloquent shrug and called a taxi.

She’d left without saying goodbye and he’d stayed awake for long hours that night, wracked with guilt and regrets, waking miserable and cranky the following morning, unprepared and unfit for the confrontation that came just after lunch…

He was surprised - and distressed – to see Sarah with his mum. He had expected his mother; Sarah he was sure would have too much pride to be party to this confrontation. Obviously he had misjudged her unless his mother had persuaded her to be here against her better judgement. That sounded likely. He didn’t quite know why the two of them had become so chummy, but he could tell that for some reason his mother had set her sights on Sarah as daughter-in-law, presumably a better one than either Becca or Nancy could ever be.

His mother, followed by a sour faced Sarah, pushed past him, throwing her handbag with practised theatrical fury on the sofa. She was looking trim and attractive, her makeup expertly applied – subtle and understated. Her eyes, though, were cold and angry. She was standing in the middle of the room, apparently struck dumb with furious indignation.

He didn’t know why but the tension in the room made him feel like making tea, so he suggested it and that did the trick: his mother erupted!

“What the hell are you playing at, Craig Dean?” she demanded, hands balled into tight fists that were restlessly clenching and unclenching against her jean-clad thighs. Since she didn’t pause for an answer he assumed the question was strictly rhetorical. “I cannot believe how ungrateful you’re being. Do you think I’m not _furious_ with you? Do you think I don’t want to bloody _strangle_ you? First you make an utter show of me and this _entire_ family by getting caught with your trousers down at your own engagement party!” Her voice rose in outrage at this and he prayed that her accent was as difficult for his neighbours to understand as theirs was for him… “That would have been bad enough if it had been the maid of honour, Sarah’s best friend, you’d been caught in bed with, but for it to be _your_ best friend, another lad… And then you have the _nerve_ to demand my blessing as you skip off with him to Dublin... But because I love you, I accept it. I’ll never understand, mind, but yes I accepted it, and then what happens? He only comes striding back to the village, bold as you please, saying he left you at the airport, that you’d basically ruined your life for a worthless piece of Swinton trash. Don’t you dare, don’t you _dare_ defend him,” she threatened and since he’d rarely seen her eyes so lit with fury he quickly subsided, trying to ignore the spiteful triumph in Sarah’s eyes. “And then you don’t even have the guts to phone me and _tell_ me what’s happened. I have to hear it from those whores; crowing about how you were never good enough for their precious joke of a brother; how he did to you what you’d done to Sarah and how it served you right. And the worse thing is that a secret part of me, and may god forgive me for this, a secret part of me agreed with them.” This admission seemed to leave her too weak to stand and she dropped numbly on to the sofa, staring sightlessly at some scene only she could see. “I did think you deserved it, but you were still my son; you’d made a monumental mistake but you were still my son and I loved you. But you never got in touch: too much of a coward, just like your father.” Her eyes, when she raised them to meet his, were cold. “At least _he_ had the decency to mess around with _girls_.” Her voice was heavy with scorn. “Who leaves the most desirable woman in the village for another man, only to have the man jilt him at the airport?” Her laugh was full of contempt. “You’re the laughing stock of the village, Craig, and you deserve to be and I should have laughed along with the rest of them, except I’m your mother and even now, despite everything, I still love you. So no, like a fool I decided that you deserved another chance and Sarah agreed. Even Jake swallowed his disgust and anger at you to help out. We put money aside, sold assets… Jack sold his shares for god’s sake, for _you_ , to make sure that the mistake _you_ made, no-one else mind, you, the mistake your greedy, selfish, perverted self made, wouldn’t ruin your future and what do you do? Only throw it all back in our faces and for what? Some shitty piece of low life trash who set his sights on you, got inside your head, used you up and when he’d finally had enough threw you away like a used johnny!” Her laugh sent a chill through him, made him feel as though his insides had just been excavated with a blunt spoon. “I don’t know you anymore, Craig and that’s no lie. I know, and you know that you’ve made a mistake but you know what?” She got to her feet, reached for her bag. “I’m sick to the back teeth of baling you out. You seem quite happy to sever ties with us, so go ahead sever all ties with your family. Maybe _his_ family will take you in for Christmas, but you know what, I wouldn’t count on it.” She brushed past him and he couldn’t believe that she was really going to end it on that note…

“Mum…”

She carried on walking so he ran to the door, doing his best to bar her way. Mother and son shared a long look. “Mum,” he said again, hoping that he was able to convey all he was feeling in that simple word.

She continued to look into his eyes and her expression did not change. “You made your choice.”

“I didn’t though, that’s just it. Do you really think that if I’d had a choice I’d have gone anywhere _near_ John Paul? You think if I’d had a choice I wouldn’t have married Sarah?”

 

“But you did have a choice, Craig. You could have done the right thing – you had numerous opportunities, you had another one this weekend but you _chose_ to wallow in this sickness you call love. God it was all I could do not to laugh out loud whenever the two of you talked about love. Love? _Love_?” She began to push him backward with a spiteful palm planted firmly in his chest. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. Love is Sarah and her willingness to forgive you for-“

“And what do you think it was for John Paul when he forgave me over and over again? You have no idea what I put him through and yet he stood by me-“

“He sent a text to your fiancée so that she’d catch the two of you in bed! Then made a right holy show of you in front of the entire village. And let’s not forget just how long he stood by you at the end.”

“He did it for me, you stupid, heartless cow. He did it for me.” He turned away, afraid he’d hit her, more afraid that he’d start bawling. “He did it for me,” he said softly, enunciating each word. “I wasn’t ready and he knew it. He did it because he loves me. And I don’t expect you to ever understand because you don’t have a clue about us and you don’t want to either. We’re a joke to you so how could you ever fucking understand? But I swear to god mum if you ever bad mouth him again…”

“You’ll what, hit me?” she snorted, “Then you’ll be like your dad in _every_ way. Well done, son.” Her voice dropped and she forced him to look at her by the simple expedient of firmly grasping his chin. “And I’ll _never_ forgive him for what he did to you so no amount of threats are going to work. I despise him, like I despise all manipulative, deceitful bastards and that’s because that’s just _my_ code of honour. What’s yours?”

And he couldn’t think of a way to respond to that, because to her –to both of them – it must seem that he had no honour. He certainly hadn’t acted honourably toward either Sarah or John Paul and of course, neither his mother nor Sarah would ever consider that John Paul had rights in this nor deserved any sort of consideration but Craig knew that he’d let John down as badly as he’d let Sarah down. Yes she’d been hurt, humiliated and John Paul had been a party to that, but what no-one could see and no-one would believe was that John Paul had compromised his honour, his integrity again and again and all for Craig’s sake. He knew that Sarah would never have done the same and all credit to her – from an objective, moralistic point of view - but from a personal, entirely selfish point of view he felt he knew which of them loved him the most. And in the end John Paul had walked away because he loved him, knew that for all that they were crazy about each other they weren’t on the same page when it came to their relationship. Even now Craig hadn’t changed his mind about needing to keep their relationship private, secret, a precious thing that mustn’t be sullied by the world’s approbation.

But he just didn’t know how to think of himself as different just because he loved John Paul; violently resented having a label stuck on him. He was sick of always being the odd one out, being picked on because of the way he talked, because of the things he talked    
  
_about_   
  
and now to have his entire life stretching out ahead of him, bent to a certain shape because of his relationship with John Paul? Well he hadn’t been – still wasn’t - ready for that and for once, John Paul had not indulged him, had not pretended that things were going to sort themselves out. Craig needed the time and space to decide what these feelings for John Paul meant for his future view of himself and having John there muddying the waters wouldn’t have worked at all.

Yeah it had taken a while but he could see that now.

And he didn’t need to be a psychic to know just how badly it had hurt John Paul to do what he did, but he’d always been the strong one and just as Craig had always relied on him to catch him when he fell in the end he was there to push him away when he didn’t have the courage to do it for himself.

Yeah they were both hurting and maybe it wouldn’t all end in smiles and laughter, but he knew who and what John Paul was and no amount of stupid, angry words from his mother would ever make him forget it.

 

So he didn’t reply and though he hated fighting with her, still felt overwhelmingly guilty for bringing this upon all of them, he was more than ready to sever the ties if    
  
_not_   
  
severing them meant being reminded of his lack of moral fibre at every family gathering. If jokes were going to be made at his expense, if everyone was going to cringe whenever the word gay came up in conversation then yeah severing ties would be best for all concerned. And since it was clear that the McQueens were going to be maligned at every opportunity then a bit of distance was definitely called for. Not that he had any particular reason to like the McQueen women, would most likely have shared his family’s opinion of them, but the fact is they were John Paul’s family and he couldn’t sit back and allow them to be trashed - just wasn’t going to happen. So, yet another reason to sever the ties –   
  
_if_   
  
that’s really how she wanted to play it…

He was aware of his mum’s quick temper, aware also that she usually cooled down soon enough, but somehow, this time, he felt that even if on the surface she did cool down, did eventually say she hadn’t meant it he knew she had and what’s more knew that he was never going to be the son she wanted him to be. No, he wasn’t gay, but neither was he going to pretend that he wasn’t capable of falling hard for another guy, which is something they clearly all wanted him to do. All of them seemed to be locked into this idea that John Paul had cast some weird spell on him, causing him to come when he called, follow him around like a puppy dog; a spell so strong that even now, now that they were separated by hundreds of miles, a body of water, not to say several stressful months it was still fully operational. And yeah it    
  
_was_   
  
a bit like that, but Craig didn’t see it as weird in anyway; really couldn’t understand why it was so hard for them to recognise love when it was staring them full in the face. But that would be just him being naïve again: blokes didn’t love other blokes that way; only women could be the recipients of that kind of love. But would they have accepted his obsession with John Paul if their relationship    
  
_hadn’t_   
  
been sexual? Would the two of them have been allowed to spend more time together as mates, go off on holiday together, be in and out of each other’s personal lives, so long as everyone knew that they were just really good friends, as close as brothers? 

 

Craig had never been the most politically correct bloke in the village – he knew that – had never given much thought to gay rights, women’s rights or any of the other trendy isms people like Nancy breathed like air. And while he hadn’t been homophobic   
  
_exactly_   
  
he hadn’t been above making queer jokes himself or joining in the laughter whenever Jake and his mates made them. It had never occurred to him that it was even possible to be straight and not be utterly repulsed by the thought, never mind the act, of sucking another guy’s cock. It had seemed possible to him, not long after meeting John Paul, to be as attached to a mate as you were to your brother or maybe your girl, but that wasn’t exactly the same as... sleeping with him, kissing every inch of his skin, getting addicted to the taste of his cock. And he still didn’t know if it was just a unique thing because John Paul was gay and such a close mate, but what had happened between them – to    
  
_him_   
  
\- made him question all his previous certainties. When Jake kept talking about ‘not understanding’ and being ‘repulsed’ Craig no longer silently agreed. He’d been completely straight, as straight as Jake until John Paul, and his feeling was that if it could happen to him then one had to assume that it could, therefore, happen to anyone. Which meant that all of a sudden the stuff he’d once believed about sexuality seemed the opposite of set in stone. And to be honest this realisation was still doing his head in because the truth was that he actually    
  
_wanted_   
  
the certainty, wanted straight to be straight and gay to be gay, wanted to be normal, was almost desperate to fit in. But after having lived with so much deceit and for such a long time he found himself seriously repulsed by the thought of more pretence. He was pretty sure that John Paul was the only guy he’d ever sleep with, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he hadn’t happened. If his next girlfriend asked about his exes he’d tell her about both Sarah    
  
_and_   
  
John Paul because if he was going to move on he had to cultivate the habit of being brutally honest with himself. 

And maybe it was counterproductive to still be such a mummy’s boy. No matter that he was so far from home physically, metaphorically he still hadn’t quite weaned himself off the convenient maternal tit as yet. But maybe it was time, time to cut the apron strings, time to stand on his own two feet, grow the fuck up – finally.

So with new resolve he met his mother’s hard gaze and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right, mum.” His gaze took in the unsmiling Sarah too. “You both are. I’ve been a cheat; a low-life deceitful bastard and you’re better off without me. You both are-“

“Oh here we go with the pity party-“

“No, Mum, no. It’s not about feeling sorry for myself. I don’t. I’ve had plenty of time to think about what I did; the mess I caused simply because I couldn’t be honest, couldn’t face what I was doing with John Paul. I know I could never have had the happy ending with him, but not for the reasons you think, mum. Not because he’s gay and gay relationships don’t work, but because I didn’t deserve him. Well, it’s true. I know you don’t get it – I don’t expect you to. I couldn’t accept that part of myself so...” He turned fully to face Sarah. “Understand that I did love you, but I was desperate to hold on to you when I should have let you go, should have set you free so that you could maybe find someone who deserved you. But if I didn’t have you I’d have had no excuse to keep holding him at arm’s length, no excuse to not be with him the way he wanted us to be. I was in love with him, but I was ashamed of it, ashamed of loving him, so I...used you, used you as a convenient excuse. So yes I deserve every punishment you can think of to inflict on me and I’d take it too, because I will never forgive myself for what I did to you and I know I’m hurting you right now, but you need to know finally how much you don’t deserve me in your life cos the truth is...” He took a breath then finished in a rush. “If John hadn’t been a boy, if it was okay to be gay, to be with a man in the same way it’s okay to be with a woman then it’s him I’d have been with – not you. It would have been John Paul I’d have asked to marry me and if I’d had the guts to do that you would never have been hurt the way I know I hurt you.” He swallowed hard, unable to believe that he’d actually gone ahead and said it. It was the truth, but he’d promised himself that he would never say it to her. 

He saw the moment it hit her.

His intuition had told him that Sarah, like all the rest, honestly hadn’t taken the thing with John Paul seriously, that no matter how often he’d told her that he’d chosen

John Paul she really hadn’t understood what it meant. Until now. Now he saw the full realisation of the depth of his deceit take root in her eyes and change her entire face. She didn’t cry; he imagined that she was too infuriated for that, no she swung her hand back then connected as hard as she could with his nose. He felt the sting and then the hot liquid spill unheeded down his face.

“Either of you ever come back to the village I’ll kill you! Both of you!” The venom in her voice had him almost unconsciously raising his hand to his now spittle flecked cheek to ensure that her spit was actually saliva and not poison

He didn’t doubt that she meant every word and watched unmoving, unspeaking as she swept out without another word.

He and his mother stood facing each other, she, looking into his eyes, like him ignoring the blood pouring from his injured nose.

He felt, for some reason, that he was on the cusp of something important – a life changing event.

“Well,” she said at last, hoisting her large handbag on to her shoulder. “That was clever.”

“It was the truth.”

“Oh you pick your moments, don’t you? To start telling ‘the truth’.” She was shaking her head, staring, as though she no longer recognised him. “Craig, I think we both need some space away from each other.” She looked at her shoes. “Any financial aid you need...”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m sorry but I don’t think you should come for Christmas.”

He’d half been expecting this but that somehow didn’t stop it hurting more than almost anything he’d ever experienced. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Just give it some time, eh, son? Wait for tempers to cool down. You know, it hasn’t really been that long...”

“Yeah. I understand, mum. Go on, look after Sarah.” He moved away from the door, forcing himself to keep his eyes on her face. “I’ll be fine.”

She forced a bright smile. “I know and we’ve got your address so we’ll make sure you get your parcels...”

He smiled. “Food parcels? I’ve gone to live in Ireland, not Timbuktu!”

She laughed too and he had to commend them both on the sterling performances they were giving. “Yeah, well...” She was starting to look uncomfortable so he gave her a peck on the cheek and allowed her to escape.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t even have to stop himself. All he felt was empty, but for some reason a tiny part of his mind seemed to be ... cheering....

 

**

 

“So if he came through the door right now, you’d take him back.”

It wasn’t a question and he gave his sister a sheepish look, but didn’t reply.

“John Paul you did the right thing. It was never going to work-“

“I do know that, Jacq. I do, doesn’t stop me feeling that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life though.”

She sighed, staring intently into his face. “I know that this is bloody rubbish but if it’s meant to be-“

“It’s meant to be,” he said firmly, deliberately holding her gaze.

“Well then.” She slapped him on the thigh and jumped up, vigorously rubbing her calf a second later. “I swear I’ve got cramp,” she whined.

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah thanks for the sympathy. But John, give it some time. Don’t go chasing him now. If he’s going to be who you want him to be, well it’s not gonna happen overnight.” 

“I know and I also know that he probably won’t change. I mean I know that he’s going to go back to girls as soon as he gets the opportunity, that he’ll probably forget me, what we had...”

“You don’t. You don’t believe that at all. If you did you wouldn’t still be pining, wouldn’t still be banging on about the mistake you’ve made. You know he’s the one for you, and call me a bloody fool but I trust you; I think you know this lad better than anyone and I don’t think you’d be wasting all this energy if you didn’t think there was something in it for you. But it is true what they say, you know, absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

“Jacq, my heart couldn’t _be_ any fonder.”

“Oh how gay is that?” she said in feigned disgust, dodging a well-aimed paperback, her heels seeming to provide no discernible impediment to her ability to move quickly. He’d always been fascinated by his sisters’ range and variety of footwear over the years, marvelling at their seemingly inborn ability to run in heels, fight in heels, and though he really, really wanted to gouge his eyes out at the memory, fuck in heels too. “Anyway I was talking about him, not you.”

“Well maybe, but I can’t live my life on a hope for a future I absolutely can not control. I still want him, can’t imagine _not_ wanting him, but I’m determined to live my life as fully as possible... until I feel the time’s right to make contact with him again. Do you think I should wait until we graduate?” he asked suddenly, aware that he sounded like a 10-year-old asking his big sister if he looked cool in his new bomber jacket.

“How long’s that? Three years?”

“Yeah, about that.”

He watched her ruminate. “Well... I don’t see why you’d have to wait that long. I mean you could put the feelers out before then, couldn’t you? You’ve got your mobiles, email. You wouldn’t have to meet; just take it slow, see if you’ve still got owt in common.”

He considered, then shrugged, though he was, in truth, pretty excited at the idea. “Yeah it might work. We’ll see.” He started shuffling through the papers on his desk, pretending not to see his sister’s big knowing grin.

 

 

**

She loved the Irish accent – especially on a man - and there was something about being chatted up by an Irishman that made her heart sing with delight. It was always such _fun_ and maybe because it had always happened in circumstances where she knew that the flirtation was never going to lead anywhere, always welcome. So the visit had started on a high note. She was pretty damned determined to ensure that it ended on one too. 

Dublin wasn’t new to her: she’d been there a few times before when she was younger. She’d very carefully made sure not to tell her mam about the day excursions she’d taken with some mates – a bad lot as her mum would have said had she known about these particular mates. And she wouldn’t have been far wrong either.

The city had changed a bit since her last visit, but not enough to make her feel lost or out of her depth.

After double checking the address a smooth, albeit chilly bus ride later found her climbing the stairs to a second floor flat, part of a big rambling house located in the north of the city, the heart of student land.

There was a possibility that her quarry would be out, but since it was Saturday afternoon she rather thought the odds would be in her favour.   
  
  


When the door opened almost immediately after she’d rung the bell she spent the requisite few seconds enjoying the expression of utter astonishment on his face. The succeeding bleak white-faced panic she enjoyed rather less.

“John Paul? What’s happened to John Paul?” His voice was unnaturally high, descending into a weird cracking on the last syllable.

“Hello to you too.”

He continued staring at her, obviously completely at sea. Taking pity on him she pushed her way past into the tiny hallway of a surprisingly clean and modern little flat. “John Paul’s fine. But I’m parched. Could murder a cuppa.” She gave him a significant look and to her relief he seemed to snap out of it, politely ushering her into a small but well-decorated living room, inviting her to sit while he presumably went to make her that cuppa.

She lit a fag while she waited, finding an ashtray that had clearly been part of the fixtures and fittings. Far as she knew Craig Dean had never touched a fag in his life. Well, apart from her brother, of course. She hid the smile since it was inappropriate and flicked some ash carefully into the garish ornament.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it.”

“Lots of sugar, drop of milk. Leave it, I’ll help myself.” Well he and John Paul had that in common at least – the ability to make a fine cup of tea, along with the really good table manners. What was it, jug of milk, tea in a pot, china cup and saucers, sugar in a little bowl, all on a tray? Well he’d certainly been well trained. “Thanks mate.”

“Yeah.” He was hovering over her, looking nervous and out of place – in his own flat no less. 

Nice one, Jacq, she admonished herself. “You wanna sit down? You’re making me jumpy.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He sat opposite her at the small table for two, turning his head to concentrate his attention on the small portable in the corner, the thoughts flitting back and forth on his expressive face. It was a nice face, she mused, all the features even and pretty, his skin with that nice olive sheen she liked, the hair dark and soft looking. She could definitely see what had attracted John Paul though she guessed that it wasn’t Craig’s looks that were of primary interest to her brother.

“Nice place. Most student digs are dives. You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Yeah I was lucky.”

She’d forgotten about that accent; it was nice to hear as welcome relief amidst the sea of Lancashire or Liverpudlian. Yet another point of attraction no doubt. “You look well.”

He turned to her then and she saw something flash in his eyes and suspected that he had reined in a bit of temper there. Well, this one got more interesting by the minute. “Thanks. I was a bit overwhelmed at first, but I think I’ve got everything under control now. The thing is to set up a routine and do your best to stick to it. And it helps that there aren’t any...distractions...”

“No girlfriend then?” She knew she was pushing it but she wouldn’t be a McQueen if she didn’t push at every given opportunity.

He clearly agreed – that she was pushing it. She saw a vein throb in his left temple and his mouth pursed a little in a gesture she found really cute. “I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t think that’s any of your business. I don’t know you very well. I mean I know you’re John Paul’s sister-”

“So you do have a girlfriend?” She took a sip of her very nice tea, aware that she was enjoying winding him up a little bit too much.

He jumped to his feet in a gesture that looked practised. Clearly this guy had a pretty short fuse. “It’s none of your business but yeah I have met someone. You going to report back to him; did he ask you to check up on me?”

She shrugged. “John Paul? Why would he? He left    
  
_you_   
  
, didn’t he?” No, that was mean. She shouldn’t score points off him; that wasn’t why she was here. “I was asking for me, not him. He’s getting on with his life; gone to university in Wales, doing great.”

He had his back to her so she couldn’t see his face, but she sussed that he was hurt. She couldn’t say for sure which of her words had hurt him but clearly something had.

“That’s great,” he said, probably meaning it, but that wasn’t something you’d be able to suss from his voice. “I am too. It’s not a serious relationship – not yet, early days, you know? But I’m moving on too.”

“Good for you,” she said, dragging deeply on the cigarette.

“And has he – is he- is he- seeing anyone?” 

She really hoped he didn’t think he sounded in any way casual. “He’s an 18 year old gay guy just discovering his sexuality, away from home; gorgeous, available... What do you think?”

He didn’t say anything at all to this, didn’t even turn to face her and this made up her mind for her. She’d found out what she needed to.

“Why don’t you come and sit down? We need to talk.”

He turned and looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face, but said nothing, resuming his seat a moment later, staring expectantly into her face.

She continued to pull on the cigarette, watching him through the cloud of smoke before stubbing it out and sitting back in her chair.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush – not my style. I think you and John Paul have made a right royal cock-up and you both deserve all the bad words that‘ve been said about you. _Especially_ you, and I’m not saying that because John Paul’s my baby brother. You were a cowardly piece of shit and you caused a lot of people a lot of hurt that could have been avoided if you’d just had the guts to be honest. But having said that I know better than John Paul that it’s not as simple or straightforward as he seems to think it is. As far as he’s concerned you sleep with guys you’re gay. I don’t think it’s like that myself so in a way I’m on your side, more than you might think. The thing is if my brother’s wasting his time with you, if his love for you is going to fall on waste ground tell me now and I’ll make sure he finds a way to get over you, cos I gotta tell you he’s nowhere near at the minute and there’s no way in hell I’m going to see my brother in bits over a guy who doesn’t give a fuck.”

He closed his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing with the force of his emotion, but she could see that it would be a while before he would be capable of speech.

“Okay: here’s how I see it. He wants to try again with you – no not now – a couple of years maybe if you’re both up for it, but we both know, no all three of us know, that a couple years is a long time, especially in a situation like this and things might just fizzle out. You meet some girl who you decide is everything you want; John Paul meets a guy who puts you in the shade – anything could happen so none of us are pinning our mortgages on this, right?” He gave a silent nod, still not quite able to meet her eyes and she nodded in turn though he couldn’t have seen. “Right then. So you get on with your life and he’ll do the same. If you feel that you still want to try with him, if in a couple years time you feel that you can give him what you can’t give him now then get in touch – with me. I’ll keep in touch – if you want - let you know how he’s doing. Do you want that? Or would you rather just put it all behind you?” She hoped he could tell that she was being sincere, not judgmental or sarky.

He lifted his eyes to hers at last and she had her answer even before he spoke. “Yeah keep in touch. I’d like that, but don’t – I mean don’t let him know-“

“What do you think, that I’m a newbie? I’ve been doing this sort of thing since I was a nipper. I can keep mum, don’t worry. But Craig, listen to me and take this seriously. If you change your mind, if you don’t want him anymore don’t fuck about, let me know, be a man about it-“

“Yeah,” he said quietly and gave her a serious look. “I promise you. And just in case it’s not clear, I’m still head over heels in love with John Paul. It’s possible that that could change, but it feels pretty permanent. It was never my love for him that wasn’t strong enough.” He ran an impatient, frustrated hand through his hair, probably sick of trying to explain this. “Oh I don’t know how to-“

She reached a gentle hand to touch his sleeve, quieten him. “I know. I can tell you love him by the way my brother is about    
  
_you_   
  
.” She laughed a little, embarrassed for the first time. “Don’t worry it’s a brother-sister thing, but I know that John Paul knows it wasn’t because you didn’t love him that things didn’t work out. The thing is, no-one’s expecting you to do anything you don’t want to do, be anything you don’t want to be just to please someone else. I know my brother and I know that he’d rather not have you than have you on false pretences. I think you know what he wants from you if you’re going to be together. If that’s something you find that you’re just not ever going to be comfortable with then walk away. I don’t care if it takes you two weeks or two years to know. If you can’t, then walk away, don’t break him again.”

He bit his lip, which unless she was mistaken was trembling with emotion, but steadfastly met her eyes and she found herself wondering how often John Paul had been faced with just this look: eyes abrim with sincerity and feeling, making you feel that the words were coming from the deepest, most authentic core of his very being. Yeah she could see why her poor brother hadn’t been able to tell the guy where to go - and mean it. “I promise you that I will not mess him about again. I don’t ever want to do that to anyone again and definitely not John Paul.”

She made a meal of examining his face for sincerity, realising now that this guy could believe every word he was saying as he said them, drawing you seamlessly, willingly into his seductive web before turning around and stabbing you in the back less than a hour later. So no, she couldn’t tell if he could be trusted with her brother’s heart but it really wasn’t up to her to make that decision. All she could do was be aware that she was dealing with a master deceiver, learn to read his tells and do her best to stay one step ahead. She didn’t know yet if she liked him or not, but John Paul wanted him and that was all she needed to know. “Okay, so that’s sorted then.” She crossed her long legs, making note of the fact that he instinctively followed the movement, then with a frown quickly looked away. She couldn’t be sure, but she had a feeling that it wasn’t because she was a girl that he wasn’t interested but because she was John Paul’s sister, and call her a nutter but that tiny little unconscious moue of distaste had just made her day.

 

**

 

 

# 

April 2008

 

He hadn’t expected the relationship with Fiona to last this long. She was a gorgeous strawberry blonde, still living at home with her parents: bright, clever, tall and athletic. They’d met in the first week but though he’d definitely noticed her it hadn’t been until early November that they’d started going out. They had fun, not as all over each other as he and Sarah had been, but that felt right for them. Most couples here tended to be just a little more circumspect than he and Sarah had been in any case and he was quite happy to fit in with the prevailing social climate.

Fiona was close to her parents and claimed to be a practising Catholic. He imagined, though, that the way she enthusiastically rode him whenever she could, seemingly intent on wearing out not only him but also his not-particularly-sturdy single bed, screaming her pleasure, bawling out instructions in a way that was at once a turn on and a nerve wracker, not to mention her remarkable finesse with the contraceptive side of things – a girl    
  
_very_   
  
familiar with the humble condom – would, to most onlookers, have belied that description. Still, her religious conscience was her business and since she never talked about either her parents or the church Craig was more than happy to follow her lead, relieved that parents wouldn’t be part of this relationship. He’d had enough parental involvement in his relationships to last a lifetime!

Fiona was a second year student so their schedules didn’t coincide all that often, but he found that this suited him; gave him a reason for dipping out of certain obligations the way he’d never really been able to with Sarah. And the workload was manageable, the lectures interesting, his fellow students a sound bunch, no real arseholes to speak of. So all in all he had to say that he’d pretty much landed on his feet. Yeah he’d been going through the motions for much of the first term and Christmas had been really, really hard, but he’d already found in his short life that misery wasn’t something that remained static; you simply got used to the state which meant that it inevitably lost its bite and it just wasn’t as satisfying to wallow when your heart wasn’t really in it.

So he moved on with his life, threw himself into the work and the relationship, both of which were straightforward and surprisingly stress free.

And it got better; all of it got better.

He’d spent weeks waiting for Jacqui McQueen to get in touch but she never had and in time he stopped checking his emails for a message from her; understood that the next text or call would most likely not be her updating him with news on John Paul. And to his surprise and satisfaction he found that he was more than okay with this. He wasn’t hurting anymore nor was he confused about his sexuality; it was as he’d thought: John Paul was a one-off and now he was out of Craig’s life Craig could get on with being who he really was. Fiona suited him fine – top girl, not clingy, good company, great in bed. He didn’t think the relationship was going anywhere, but for now it made sense to stick with it rather than getting into something that might be more complicated, start to become a distraction. In fact he fully intended to finish up his degree before embarking on a serious relationship. To think that he’d come so close to mucking up his life by getting involved with either Sarah or John Paul. The serenity and ease of his current relationship with the confident, sunny-natured Fiona made him completely aware of how bad a mistake living with either of them would have been.

He didn’t know how he’d managed to get himself pushed into the decisions he’d ended up making; how fucking needy he’d been; unable to imagine doing any of it by himself. How close he’d come to messing everything up. He’d heard that the Elton John song ‘someone saved my life tonight’ was about a (gay) man being saved from marriage (to a woman) and though he wasn’t gay and was a little uncomfortable with the unfortunate and undeniably gay association he thought it pretty apt. John Paul had    
  
_twice_   
  
inadvertently saved his life; first with the text and then with the strop in the airport. He’d come so close to getting it wrong first with Sarah and then with John, but now he could look back as at a bad dream and simply breathe a huge sigh of relief that he was well, well out of it...

 

**

It had started as a bit of shameful self-indulgence, still was actually, but soon enough turned into a bit of an addiction.

 

He’d always liked writing and he was studying for a degree in English with creative writing as a huge component, but he’d never done it this seriously before and he’d certainly never expected to get this much money for it! Well yeah he did read blogs and often felt he could do far better but he’d never ever expected to be given the opportunity to put his money – or to be more accurate, someone else’s money – where his mouth was. It had started with one blog all about dj-ing, then he’d been head hunted to write for a well-known music mag, then got another gig writing for an online site. At the moment he was hardly managing to fit his dj-ing let alone his actual academic work into his busy week! But he wasn’t complaining, far from it: the money was great and meant he could seriously think about getting a nice place when he moved out of halls in the summer; the distraction was even better as it meant that he didn’t spend every idle, unconscious moment thinking about Craig.

Going home to Hollyoaks for Christmas had been really hard with Frankie looking at him like something she’d just scraped off her shoe, capped off when Sarah had boldly walked up to him and slapped him as hard as she could in front of all the patrons at The Dog, doing it in a dramatic enough way to stop all conversation dead in its track. He could sense the greedy eyes awaiting his reaction, so he did the only thing he could in the situation: he ordered a bottle of lager and after thanking the barman, took it over to the table where Carmel, eyes wide and mouth trembling was waiting for him. He’d very deliberately made sure it was Carmel who’d accompanied him on his first visit to the scene of his greatest humiliation, knowing that Jacqui, Mercedes, even Michaela would have been in there fists and tongue flying should things get...heated. He hadn’t really known what Sarah would do if she ran into him, but he had to confess that he’d not expected her to react quite so heatedly.

He’d heard that she was doing well with the modelling, even giving up her place at HCC to concentrate fully on her burgeoning career. She’d even got herself a nice little flat in town, independent, well-off, guys still all over her, but that, apparently was not enough; she clearly still wanted Craig and even the fact that    
  
_he_   
  
didn’t have Craig any more than she did was, apparently, not enough to satisfy her. He supposed that he was, in her mind, the other woman in every way: not only the bastard her fiancé had left her for, but her defacto best mate too – a betrayal on all counts as far as she was concerned. And he had no word to offer in his own defence. 

He couldn’t tell her how much he’d hated deceiving her, couldn’t tell her how he’d pleaded with Craig to come clean, to simply choose either him or her, couldn’t confess that had he been the one who hadn’t been the chosen he’d have walked away. Because the fact is that not a single word would have made her feel any better about either herself or the situation – he and Craig had betrayed her in the worst way and nothing on earth was going to change that fact. But he wasn’t going to wallow in guilt for the rest of his life either; wasn’t going to wear a hair shirt or hie to a monastery. He’d mucked up but life went on and the sooner he got on with it the sooner they – all those who thought his business was their business – would recognise that this fairy wasn’t going to don drab clothes and hide himself away in shame or guilt for the length of time they deemed appropriate which, to his mind, seemed likely to run into decades rather than months! No, if he were going to come back to see his family – and he certainly was – then the sooner they got that the better for all concerned.

So he finished his drink with Carmel, ignoring the buzz that lasted for as long as they sat there, following them to the door as they left some half-hour later and decided that he felt pretty good about the way they’d handled themselves. Without ammunition there was nothing to see, nothing to pick at. He gave his sister a huge heartfelt hug which she warmly returned and headed home to enjoy – well that was a misnomer given his family – his Christmas.

He hadn’t been back since but there were phone calls and emails so it wasn’t like he was in danger of getting homesick or even missing them. He pretty much wondered if it would be the same if he went to live in the back of beyond; that somehow they’d find a way to track him down and stay in touch. Mostly he hated it, but a part of him knew that he would never be alone, never have to go through life feeling that there was no-one on his side, and just from what had happened when he and Craig had been found out he had to acknowledge that this made him different from probably 80 percent of gay men, 50 percent of the general population.

When his sisters and mam said they loved him they certainly meant it and though they might not wholeheartedly approve of the fact that he fancied blokes instead of women knew that this wouldn’t stop them loving and supporting him. He couldn’t help wondering, worrying if Craig was still on the outs with his family. Oh they had made a show – because to do otherwise would have looked dreadful – of telling him he was still loved. No that wasn’t fair – it was really only Frankie Osbourne and Jake Dean, his mother and brother, who were the hypocrites in that situation: his sister and step family had been genuinely accepting, but he supposed that in Craig’s heart of hearts they didn’t count, it was his mum and his brother he needed in his corner. John Paul knew just as surely as he knew his eyes were blue that they would never be in his corner, not the way his own family was for him and he never, ever took that for granted now.

He’d hated when it had all kicked off last year, really resenting the fact that everyone knew his business, felt entitled to make off colour jokes and references to his sexuality which of course he’d been expected to just... take...like the good sport all gay men were supposed to be. Seemed that if you objected to jokes about gays, women, or blacks you were respectively humourless, a frigid feminist/lesbian or had a huge chip on your shoulder. Yeah right cos everyone knew that no ‘joke’ could ever be offensive. He didn’t need to be especially sensitive to discern the inherent homophobia in many of these ‘gay’ jokes. He hadn’t, however, made the mistake that it seemed to him a lot of gay activists did, believing that all jokes made about gay people by straight people were all inherently homophobic. He had learned that there were many people who weren’t at all homophobic and it had to be said that they were, in the main, female or very, very unusually secure straight men. It hurt to confess it but he really hadn’t found any straight guys who were as comfortable with him as most women were, not that this bothered him overmuch since he had no time for people who were so uncomfortable with their own sexuality that they felt threatened by the possibility that someone might fancy them!

It always struck him as incredibly ironic that while most straight men saw gay men as weak and fragile they were scared shitless that a gay man would fancy them and somehow    
  
_force_   
  
them to have sex! It was laughable, but he really had no time for that sort of crap. He didn’t bring up his sexuality unless it became impossible not to – jokes about tits and the rest, jokes about gays, with him expected to join in the ‘fun’. So far it hadn’t been a huge deal and obviously in his dj-ing both in the clubs and writing about it on the blogs and mags it never came up at all. 

He still wasn’t a fan of the gay scene, being too much of a lone wolf, too much of an individual to ever feel comfortable in a crowd of people just like him. He was gay, but as far as he was concerned that didn’t make him have any more in common with the guys at a gay bar than he did with a Goth    
  
_or_   
  
a truckie. To be put in a box simply because of whom he slept with seemed ludicrous to him, but he reluctantly acknowledged that he was lucky in that he’d grown up ‘straight’ with all the interests that straight men generally cultivated and was apparently constitutionally disinclined to want to do ‘gay’ things. 

And he wasn’t proud to be gay any more than he was proud to be a blue-eyed blonde; it was just part of who he was. He was proud that he’d developed his dj-ing and writing skills, but that was different –something he’d worked at, not something he just was: a white English lad born in the 20   
th   
Century. But though he wasn’t    
  
_proud_   
  
to be gay he wasn’t ashamed of it either, no matter how often other people tried to assure him that he should be. 

He supposed that part of his learning curve had been hastened by his experience with Tina and the prejudice she’d faced as the only brown face in a sea of white – and that was just her own family! She’d had a hard time of it at school and out in the world generally with people very obviously thinking things about their mam, saying them a lot of the time too, and all of it centred on Tina initially - as the one who very obviously had a different father from the other girls - until they got to know the others at which point Tina became the least of their concern. But the point was Tina was different and she got pilloried for it – just for that alone, for being different – yet she’d come through it fine, still sure of who she was, not driven to hate herself because ignorant pillocks wasted no time in showing that they hated anything that deviated, even a little, from the norm. And though he hadn’t thought about it that way at the time it had all really helped when it came time to deal with coming out.

But if his self-esteem was on the up, the same could not be said of his love-life. Oh he had offers, plenty of those and plenty of opportunity too, but his heart proved an immovable obstacle to getting his rocks off in a pleasurable, guiltless way. He had been on a few dates, managed some kissing, but all hope for any more than that fizzled out as soon as the kissing got deeper than pecks. It all reminded him too strongly of the way Craig had kissed him – unlike anyone else on earth – slow, deep, passionate, as though he couldn’t get enough; as though John Paul was the air he needed to breathe. He had never asked of course, but he knew that Craig didn’t kiss Sarah that way. He’d seen them kiss and, though if someone had put him on the spot he wouldn’t really have been able to explain, he sensed that there was a difference. Plus there were certain things that Craig said, fairly cryptic, apparently innocuous remarks that made him sure that there was something about being intimate with John Paul that he really liked; something that he was obviously not able to get from intimacy with Sarah.

They never talked about sex, never really talked about what they were doing, but he knew that Craig really got off on John Paul sucking him off, enough that he guessed that fellatio wasn’t something he and Sarah did all that often. Craig was very obviously a man who liked fucking – and was no doubt very good at pleasing Sarah that way. He and John Paul hadn’t taken that step, but they’d rubbed off pretty often and he was good at that so John Paul was pretty confident he’d be good at the other too. Not that he knew too much about being on the receiving end of that. Spike had bottomed for him every time they’d slept together and David had too, but unless he was very unlucky and unfortunate enough to have been born minus a prostate he had a feeling that he’d like it as much as they’d seemed to.

Spike had tried to explain the sensations to him and it all sounded pretty exciting, but he knew that he wasn’t the type of person who’d allow just anyone that intimacy. He’d have done it with Spike – they were good together, especially sexually - but though it sounded daft when he thought too hard about it he was saving his virginity for Craig – he knew he was. He was pretty sure that Craig wasn’t likely to be fucking any guys any time soon, certainly not bottoming, so if they ever got together he knew that if Craig ever gave it up for him he’d be the first for him too...

But the truth was that he was 18, horny a lot of the time and Craig was never too far from his mind so he had to have an ...outlet.

It had started out tamely enough; he got himself a blog and started to write. He hadn’t planned to talk about himself and in a way he didn’t, except every line told a tale about him. Although the prose was written in third, sometimes first person and was in the form of short narrative pieces he knew that he was laid bare between every line, every carefully chosen adjective...

And the prose work got more and more erotic, more and more addictive.

So he decided to keep it strictly private, taking measures to ensure that the search engines wouldn’t pick it up.

After a bit of thought he decided to call it: Dean’s Boy

 

**

 

Fiona had just blown him in the stockroom – a complete no-no, which, if discovered, could have cost him his job - but what guy in his right mind would ever say no to a blowjob? She was quite skilled and he loved her lack of inhibition, but he couldn’t help it if he still thought girls who blew guys were slutty. And unfair and hypocritical though it might be he knew that most guys thought the same. Sure they wanted it, sure they wanted their wives and girlfriends to do it – to them - but they certainly didn’t like to think that their girls had done it to other men and certainly not with the obvious enthusiasm Fiona brought to the task!

The sensation was wonderful; grabbing her hair and guiding her gave him a sense of power and domination and when he came in her mouth he was prepared to ask for her hand in marriage, but afterwards he felt jaded and a little saddened. Sarah had hated doing this and he’d secretly respected her for that and yes he knew he was a mixed up, idiotic, hypocritical bastard, but this had been one of the major factors that, in his eyes, made her suitable wife material.

Like a good girlfriend she’d tried to please him by offering to do it and obviously he’d always said an enthusiastic ‘yes please!’, but it hadn’t taken him long to see that this particular activity wasn’t one she enjoyed and since they had a good time fucking he decided that he could live with just the occasional blowjob - which she voluntarily did when she was really turned on or just really wanted to please him. He had tried to go down on her but had been so inept at it that they’d both gigglingly reached the conclusion that tongue on nipples, fingers on clit and fucking would be the major component of their love-life. And it had worked amazingly well. She seemed to like the way he fucked her and he certainly loved fucking her. Yet, Fiona was better – more experienced, more enthusiastic - and he’d be lying if he said the sex with her wasn’t better by a mile, but she didn’t love him and that, he’d found, made all the difference in the world.

By now he had gone past missing Sarah, was still coming to terms with the guilt that still stuck its claws in from time to time, but was over her in all the ways that mattered. She’d been his first real love and as they all said it    
  
_was_   
  
special and he sometimes guiltily felt that she’d deserved to have held his love for longer; that it was a really bad day for both of them when John Paul had thrust himself under Craig’s nose with his bluntness and wit, effortlessly, unconsciously seducing him. 

The way he’d fallen for the guy still astonished him - in those unguarded moments when he allowed himself to think of him, anyway. He was straight, he knew he was, and though he’d been aware that he admired and really liked John Paul, falling for him,    
  
_sleeping_   
  
with him had never been on the cards, not until the day he found himself passionately entwined with him on his firm, sturdy bed, grasping and gasping, doing things he’d never imagined. Well okay, he hadn’t imagined them    
  
_prior_   
  
to the preceding few weeks, but your best mate tells you he loves you, comes out, starts getting it on with another guy... well you’d be a liar if you were to then claim that the idea hadn’t at least once entered your head! 

It had taken a while for him to admit he loved John Paul, but he’d admitted it to himself long before he finally admitted it to John; unable to pretend that the way he kept thinking of him was in any way different to the way he’d thought of Sarah in the early days. The only real difference that he could track was in the degree of obsession. He honestly didn’t know what it was about John Paul that made their lovemaking so passionate; that made the craving for him so intense, so unbearably intense. When he was with John he never ached for Sarah the way he ached for John Paul when he was with her. Oh not in bed – he’d learned, successfully for the most part, to compartmentalise when it came to the sex.

No, on a far more mundane level: when he and Sarah were together; on the sofa, walking in town together, eating together. He’d been forced to admit just how much more than fuckbuddies he and John Paul had become when their normal everyday public acts of friendship began to feel like an utter lie. And though he couldn’t bring himself to be affectionate with him in public he secretly and vehemently longed to be able to hold him, tease him, kiss him the way he felt free to do with Sarah.

At this point, however, he’d reached the conclusion that that kind of obsessive love was not good for anyone, let alone a straight guy involved with a gay man and had thus convinced himself that he was better off out of it, that the casual relationship with Fiona was just what he needed in his life right now.

He carefully placed the just dried glass on the overburdened tray and just as carefully opened the door and entered the bar...

He was humming in time to the music, aware that he was pleasantly buzzed, nowhere near drunk or even tipsy but certainly feeling no pain, when he became aware that someone was trying to attract his attention.

“Sorry? Missed that.”

“I said: two pints of lager and a packet of crisps please.” The man was tall and dark-haired with electrifying blue eyes and as Craig stood there staring at him he was aware of the strange, yet unmistakable sensation that was akin to his stomach plummeting to the floor.

He knew he was gaping like a village idiot but seemed unable to make his limbs obey him.

The man laughed. “It weren’t that bad were it? Heard your accent, thought it’d make you feel at home.”

Craig found his voice and smile at last, though he was still having a hard time getting his brain to send signals to the rest of his body. “Well it might surprise you then to know that I haven’t lived in London for years. I spent my formative years in your neck of the woods – Chester.”

The man gave a derisive laugh, leaning against the bar as though he planned on staying awhile. “Chester? That poncy refuge for overpaid footballers and their wives? Not likely, mate.”

Now Craig was openly grinning, feeling for the first time in over 6 months, completely at home. He fetched a bottle of lager, opened it and handed it over, shaking his head at the offer of payment. “Least I can do for a guy I’m going to slaughter at pool in a minute.”

An elegant eyebrow was raised in scorn. “You cocky little – I cannot believe that you’d issue a challenge like that without even checking the credentials of your opponent first.”

“Well no offence mate, but you know what you were saying about poncy footballers...“

“I believe the word I actually used was _overpaid_ , but since you seem determined to lose some corn tonight we’ll see that as a gauntlet thrown and have at it. And I’ll have you know that I deride ‘The Beautiful Game’, think anyone who plays it is a soft get.”

“Oh right, you’ve really done it now.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet from which he produced a 20-pound note. “This says you don’t even win a frame!”

“Oh well, if you’re intent on losing your rent money...” He took out his own wallet and produced a 20 of his own. “Then I’d have to say you’re a man after me own heart.” They grinned at each other. The man’s teeth were perfectly white; two slightly crooked ones on the right side giving his smile a ridiculously engaging quality. Craig smiled even more broadly, still silently reeling in amazed astonishment that an accent could do that to him. The guy had sounded so much like John Paul that for a moment Craig had been momentarily paralysed with shock, but he was glad that he’d recovered sufficiently to get back to the old Dean form, bantering with this guy like a champion born.

“I’ve got a break coming up in about 10 minutes. Will you bag the table for us?”

“Can do.” He abandoned his insouciant pose and straightened up, gesturing with his bottle. “I’ll see you there then.”

“Yeah, 10 minutes,” he confirmed with a smile, following the man’s retreat with interest. Well, at last, something that made him feel less like a stranger in a strange land – a little breath of home...

When he finished up some 12 minutes later he hurried to the poolroom and found the man in shirtsleeves, leaning over the table. He looked comfortable at the table but there was nothing to indicate that he was the next Ronnie O’Sullivan so Craig, with a cocky smile, jauntily grabbed a cue and came to stand beside him, surveying the lay of the land. He smelled clean, with a slight subtle hint of scent that for some reason Craig assumed his girlfriend – or wife – had bought: women were good when it came to scent, managing to avoid the overpowering spice of the colognes he knew most men would have chosen left to their own devices.

“Okay.” He fished out his note, placing it on the edge of the table, smiling when it was joined by a slightly limper, slightly older edition of the same. “So, winner takes all?”

“Naturally. Best of 3?”

“Okay. I’ll break.”

“Have at it!”

“Oh mate, I didn’t tell you that I was trained by none other than Jimmy White did I?”

“Oh. Oh well, let’s see how good a job he did then.” His voice held an unmistakable hint of challenge and Craig laughed, gave him a wink and potted on the first break...

“Oh come on, you put me off!”

They were on the last frame and his break was nearly over: the guy was good and had brought out his competitive streak, which was a good thing since it made him concentrate harder, play better, but they were 1-1 and he was afraid that he was on the way to losing this frame. He wasn’t above resorting to dirty tricks, except he wasn’t exactly being given the chance, plus the guy was playing even dirtier.

“Rubbish. I smell the words of a man who knows he’s about to lose 20 quid...”

“It ain’t over till the fat lady sings my friend,” he reminded, reflexively glancing at his watch.

“You off then?” he asked casually, not looking at him.

“Yeah, when I collect my 20 quid I’ll have to head off.”

“You are dreaming, mate. You really think I’m going to lose from this clearly unassailable position?”

“Well let’s just see if you can put your money where your mouth is!”

The man, whose name he still didn’t know, gave him a look over his shoulder and smiled. “Oh I can do that, don’t you worry!” And proceeded to clear the table.

“Damn it!” Craig exclaimed, acknowledging that he was a terrible loser. Even in this trivial situation he was a bad loser and it wasn’t the money – he just hated losing! “Oh well, well played mate.” He held out his hand.

The man looked at his hand then at his face and laughed. “Well look as though you mean it then!”

“Well I do, but I issued the challenge so it looks really sad that I end up the loser.”

“Well don’t worry, I’ll allow you to get your own back. Some day.” He made a show of picking up the two notes and depositing them in his wallet. “Maybe tiddlywinks or marbles...”

“Oi watch it!” He aimed a playful punch at the man’s midriff, which was instinctively blocked, his fist grabbed and in a move that made him dizzy with its ease and speed he was turned and pulled against a hard chest, his hands trapped against his own chest. There was a trickle of absolute silence before the man released him and stepped away.

Craig didn’t meet his eyes as he made his excuses – well his break was    
  
_well_   
  
over to be fair – and escaped back to the bar.

Well, that had been awkward. It was the sort of thing you did with a mate, not with a stranger, not with someone whose name you didn’t even know. Still they’d had fun and it would be nice to maybe have a drink and get to know each other a bit better. They hadn’t done much of the getting to know you chit-chat during the match, each man far too intent on winning to waste time on such irrelevancies, but there was no way Craig was going to lose touch with someone who reminded him so much of... home.

But it would be just his luck if the guy left without saying another word – just his luck...

Well it would seem that his luck was in that night for he saw the man a half hour later with a small group of well-dressed men and women and when their eyes met he raised his glass in an abbreviated, private toast and treated Craig to that smile once more. Craig’s smile, had he known it, stayed with him for a full 5 minutes after and his mood remained sunny until the end of his shift.

He wanted to tell the guy he was leaving, maybe arrange another match for the next time he was working, but he felt bashful about intruding on his party, felt stupid that they hadn’t even exchanged names, but in the end the guy approached him, beckoning to him as he made his way to the door, Craig not questioning why he’d decided against using the staff entrance for the very first time since coming to work there.

“You off then?”

“Yeah, managed to get out of the late night clean up tonight,” he grinned.

The man grinned back and Craig noted that he was wearing his jacket again, his car keys dangling from his left hand. “A pretty thankless task I’d imagine.”

“You got that right.”

There was a slightly awkward pause as they played the gentle verbal tennis common to people just getting to know each other. “You got far to go?”

“Well, it’s not round the corner, but the buses are pretty good, even at this time of night.”

“Well I couldn’t see you take a bus when I’ve got the car here.”

“You alright to drive?” he felt compelled to ask. (He worked with alcohol; of course he was going to ask).

The man shrugged. “I’ve had that piss weak lager you gave me and it’s been fruit juices otherwise so I think I’ll be okay.”

“Hey that was our finest lager-“

“For soft southerners and tourists who know no better,” he scoffed.

“You are really asking for it. I’ve decided.” He nodded to himself. “Return match is gonna be footy.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“Nah, nah, you said you’d let me get my own back-“

“But I meant summat serious like tiddlywinks or marbles as I said, not bloody football.”

“Well put it this way – when you get slaughtered at football we can switch to something more your speed – like marbles or tiddlywinks.”

He looked like he was going to protest some more then clearly decided that he might as well let Craig have the last word. “Okay then I’ll play your poncy game. You ready?”

“Sure. Craig by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Mark,” he said, taking it. “Nice to meet you Craig.”

“Likewise.”

He invited Mark up for coffee and was surprised and a little put out when he refused. “Well drive safely and I’ll maybe see you at the pub sometime.”

“Ah, see I knew it,” he said, a smug smile on his face.

“What?”

“You’re all talk.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“You and this football tournament...”

“When did it become a tournament? I thought a little keepy-uppy and some shots on goal – penalty shoot-out, that kind of thing.”

“Keepy-uppy?” His voice was quivering with scorn. “Keepy-uppy? You ought to play rugby, mate. Keepy-uppy...”

“You don’t play rugby. You haven’t got the build.”

Mark looked down at himself. “Have you ever seen a rugger player without his top on?”

“Do me a favour!”

“They’re not tubs of lard you know. You don’t score tries by being a huge muscle bound hulk. They’re athletes like any other...”

“Oh sure. S’far as I know most athletes don’t spend all weekend scoffing bacon butties and downing pints of ale.”

“Right. If we either of us ever get back home and our schedules coincide then I’m taking you to a match.” He gave Craig a long slow once over. “Course they’d eat you alive, but I’m not your mummy.”

“No, but are you my daddy?” He really didn’t know why he’d said that except that for some reason this man brought out the playful side of him, a side that had been dormant for too long now.

Mark gave him a look that Craig was quite unable to interpret and said quietly. “I imagine that mouth of yours gets you into quite a lot of hot water, doesn’t it?”

Craig shrugged. “A fair amount,” he said cheerfully.

Mark seemed on the verge of laughter, but he didn’t respond to that, instead he asked Craig for his number and promised he’d get in touch to schedule a time for the ‘poncy tournament’.

Craig watched the sleek black car disappear down the road, practically hugging himself with satisfaction.

Well that was the most fun he’d had in...forever...his fun times with JP not withstanding. He’d better get some footy practice in: Mark seemed the type who’d probably get some intensive training from Ronaldo or something to get him match fit, though being a Mancunian Craig found it hard if not impossible to believe that Mark hadn’t been playing football since he was big enough to run at and kick a ball. He hadn’t even thought to ask him if he was living here or merely visiting. Well he had time to rectify all that and he should have been the one to get    
  
_Mark’s_   
  
number; god knows when he’d call otherwise and he personally couldn’t wait to get this match underway.

 

**

 

# 

May 2008

 

“See I knew it!” Craig had just picked the ball from the back of the net – again.

“What?” Mark was not doing the innocent look very well and ducked with a disbelieving laugh as Craig threw the ball at his head. “You are such a bad loser, Dean.”

“You said you didn’t play.”

“I did not.”

Craig thought for a moment and had to change tack as he accepted the truth of that. “Yeah but you made me think you didn’t.”

“Oh well I apologise then,” he said with such skilful insincerity that Craig had to stare in admiration for a moment.

“Did you train professionally? Is that why you’ve got such a hate on for the beautiful game?”

He stayed still under the intense scrutiny of the other man’s disconcerting blue eyes, wondering if he’d ever get used to that; that look he’d been subjected to a time or two since their first meeting some weeks ago. It felt like the guy was stripping away all extraneous flesh to get to the heart of him and it made him feel exposed - embarrassed and wrong-footed. He couldn’t tell him to stop though, just wasn’t the sort of thing you said to another guy.

“You’re very perceptive when you want to be aren’t you?”

Craig shrugged; glad he had an excuse to look away. He started gathering their stuff. “No-one develops moves like that without training. And the rest was just me putting my psychology GCSE to good use.”

Mark laughed, joining him in packing away the equipment.

Craig wasn’t sure how he’d done it but Mark had managed to book the gym for 2 hours. Since 8 0 clock that morning they’d been the only ones on the premises and by his calculations that would be the case for another half-hour or so. Even the changing rooms were deserted.

He knew when someone was minted and therefore had no trouble categorising Mark as someone who was seriously minted. Mark didn’t talk about what he did for a living and Craig didn’t ask, but he clearly wasn’t afraid to put his money to good use – getting them the 2 hours privacy for starters. Perhaps he was a compassionate soul and hadn’t wanted anyone else to witness Craig’s humiliation.

“So that’s two challenges I’ve set and both times you’ve cleaned the floor with me. Maybe you should set the next challenge,” he suggested when they were seated on the solid wooden benches of the changing room.

Mark, seated opposite, was untying his laces, but Craig could see his grin. “You make a good point.” He looked at him. “Give me a minute and I’ll think of something.”

Craig continued to watch him for a while but when it became clear that this minute was going to be taken at some point in the    
  
_f_   
  
  
_uture_   
  
and Mark started casually disrobing in front of him he got up, turned his back and began to strip.

Mark was in the shower when he finally disposed of the last sock and he breathed a sigh of relief, not entirely certain why he was so uncomfortable. The thing though was that while Mark    
  
_appeared_   
  
to be straight the way he looked at Craig sometimes made him a bit twitchy, reminding him a little too much of the way John Paul looked at him whenever they were alone together. It never lasted long and there had never been any hint of funny stuff otherwise, but still he’d rather not be naked with him if he could help it. Anyway it was probably just because Mark had those intense eyes that made every glance, every casual look appear to be something it wasn’t. And he gave every appearance of being straight, nothing gay about him at all. They had chemistry, that’s all; had a lot in common, got on really well. Besides Mark hadn’t put the moves on him: if anything he’d been the one to pursue the friendship and that’s all it was – friendship. He really had to stop second-guessing these things. Just because he and John Paul had started out as friends didn’t mean that every man he struck up a friendship with was going to fall in love with him – or vice-versa. He liked Mark, thought he was a laugh, but that’s all it was – just mates, nothing more.

He revelled in the feel of water on his skin, the glide of scented soap rubbing away the sweat, the ache of well-used muscles. Mark was really fit, agile and skilful and at times when they were playing he’d found himself distracted, caught in admiration of the man. But he really didn’t want anything...sexual...to raise its ugly head, spoil the friendship. And there was no reason why it should – Mark hadn’t come on to him and he certainly wasn’t sexually interested in Mark. It’s just the thing with John Paul had made him a little awkward with male friendships now, had him questioning where he wouldn’t have in the past, but he’d have to put that out of his head since he really didn’t want any kind of tension developing between them.

He heard Mark turn off his shower and then the wet slap of his feet as he walked across the changing room floor, then set his head under the stream of water and reached for the shampoo.

When he left the shower he saw that Mark was still mostly undressed, just a snug pair of white boxer briefs covering his modesty. Not that he had anything at all to be modest about! He had an incredible physique – lean, but ripped, every muscle developed but in a way that indicated conditioning and expert training rather than over the top weight hauling. If he could have chosen a physique to emulate this would have been it. And from what he could see they were the same body type, Mark just a little more developed than he was.

He paused for a moment as Craig came in, his eyes taking him in quickly and efficiently, then continued to rub some sort of lotion across his shoulders and down his arm. “You took your time. I were considering setting up a search party to make sure you hadn’t disappeared down the plug hole.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. And I really hope you’re not insinuating anything about my physique.”

“Well there’s not much left once we take away the hair and the teeth,” he said, still rubbing in the lotion, which, from where Craig was standing, smelled really, really nice.

“I’m really tired of people saying I’m a lightweight-“

“Well you’re slight, but everything’s where it should be, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Craig looked at him for a minute, then grinned. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You do that,” he agreed, moving on to his torso.

It was funny because most guys he knew would be at least a little bashful about lotioning themselves up where other guys could see. Yeah they might do it in private or in front of girlfriends, but never in front of mates. But he’d noticed that about Mark: he had a confidence that meant he could probably get away with lots of things other blokes couldn’t.

“I like your cologne,” he surprised himself by saying.

Mark looked up, surprised. “It’s not cologne.” He tilted the expensive looking bottle and read the label. “But it’s made by the same outfit that make the cologne so it’s a similar scent. Try some?” He was holding out the bottle.

Craig began to feel uncomfortable, regretting the impulse that had made him mention the scent in the first place, but how could he refuse when he’d just told him he liked it? “You sure? I mean I don’t really use that stuff much myself.”

“Not even after bathing or showering? It’s a wonder you’ve got the skin you’ve got.”

“Yeah?” He sprayed deodorant generously under both arms.

“Well it must be that you’ve dropped lucky in the gene department then, but try the cologne then if you think using lotion’s too pansy for you.”

“Hey I didn’t mean anything by-“

 

“Don’t be daft! I’m having you on.” He searched in his bag for a minute before retrieving a squat, crystalline, very expensive looking bottle, half filled with a pale yellow liquid, and without a pause threw it at him.

Craig’ reflexes kicked in and he snatched the bottle out the air, staring at Mark a second later, mouth open. “You nutter,” was all he could manage.

“What?” he laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “You caught it didn’t you?”

“But only cos I’ve got Bruce Lee reflexes-“

“See I knew that, that’s why I felt safe throwing it.” He was still chuckling as he leaned down and started rubbing lotion into his calves.

Craig decided that the safest thing would be to turn his back and concentrate on getting his clothes on as swiftly as possible, so he did that, dabbing the expensive, subtle scent on his neck, ignoring the feel of Mark’s eyes on him. After a short, internal debate he dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers.

He resolutely kept his back turned until he was ready to slip on his trainers.

When he sat, facing Mark once more, he saw that the other man was also dressed, trim and elegant in well-fitting jeans and a simple white shirt and was busy packing away his belongings.

“Thanks for the game by the way.”

Mark turned and looked at him. “You’re welcome. Been a while.”

“Since you kicked a ball?”

He saw him sigh, probably debating with himself whether to answer or change the subject. “Since I enjoyed it so much.” His eyes met Craig’s and there was that intensity again. “You did me a favour, mate, and if it’s okay with you I’d like to return the favour some time.”

“Well you were supposed to be thinking of a challenge for next time,” he reminded.

“Well maybe I’ve had enough of challenges for now. I was thinking more on the lines of dinner – taking you out to dinner some time. I know it must have been a while since you had a decent feed, being on a student budget and all.”

Craig couldn’t answer. He had not been expecting this and there was something about the situation: them alone, having seen each other semi-nude, that made the invitation feel a bit...well a bit more than it probably was. He was aware of the fact that his silence was making things very awkward, but he couldn’t think of a way to rescue the situation.

“Okay, looks like we’re going to have to have the talk.” Mark had sat down again, his steady gaze commanding Craig’s attention. “Look, Craig, I can see what you’re thinking, what you’ve been thinking all day so let’s get it sorted okay? Yeah I’m gay and yeah I wouldn’t say no if I thought you were interested, but I honestly don’t make a habit of pursuing straight men. I’m here because I like your company and I’d hate to have this irrelevant crap come between us. Well I’m being presumptuous, of course: I mean it’s irrelevant crap for me, it might not be for you. Maybe the fact that you now know for sure that I’m gay, that I find you attractive, might be very relevant to you and if that’s the case I’m cool with it. No hard feelings if you want to call it a day.”

Craig looked at him for a long time, trying to read his face, trying to see just how interested he was, how sincere he was really being, but just couldn’t tell. Well it didn’t matter in any case. “No, I’m cool with it and I’d love to have dinner with you. Yeah I’m straight and no I’m not interested – that way – but we’re mates, aren’t we? You being gay    
  
_is_   
  
irrelevant crap, so let’s just get on with it, yeah?” 

“Absolutely! I’ll drop you back at yours, let you sleep it off and pick you up this evening, say 7.30? We could go for a drink first... But don’t spoil your dinner eating junk all day,” he admonished, blessedly stopping just short of the wagging finger.

 

“I’ve a lightning fast metabolism so I’ll be okay, but just to please you I’ll _starve_ meself, okay?”

Mark laughed, car keys in hand. “You are such a drama queen, Craig. I tell you you are absolutely    
  
_wasted_   
  
on business studies.”

Craig made a face - they’d had this discussion several times before – and silently ushered Mark toward the door.

 

**

 

# 

June 2008

 

Jacqui had just got out of prison – again.

She couldn’t believe they’d done that to her. Who imprisoned someone for non-payment of fines anyway? Talk about wasting taxpayers’ money! And they’d forced her to do the full 6 months too, bloody spiteful bastards!

Still she was out now and if she had any say in it wouldn’t be eating porridge again any time soon.

The worst part of being back in the nick was the fact that she hadn’t been fazed by any of it; had actually got used to the violence, the routine, the prevailing, all pervading air of despair and that worried her shitless. Well at least it had opened her eyes for once and all. If she weren’t to turn into one of the old timers - hardened, cold, inhuman - she’d have to make sure she turned her life around. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have the opportunity or means to do exactly that: she had a brain on her, was sure she could turn her hand to most things if she really had to; had a brilliant, understanding man at her side. So why on Earth was she still acting like such a kid?

Well this stint in nick had taught her this; that she hadn’t much time left to get it right. If she left it any longer to get her act together she might as well grab a bottle of booze and a handful of pills or stick a needleful of brown in her arm – either way her life would be a total dead end.

So she’d talk to Tony about doing more in the business, maybe persuade him to make her a partner once she’d got her qualification. She had a ton of ideas about how to take the business forward and knew that she’d have no trouble talking Tony round.

And then there was the matter of her brother...

He’d come to see her a couple of times, though she’d tried to dissuade him, and she’d hated seeing that look of disappointment in his eyes. He’d gone on about his dj-ing and his writing but she could see that he wasn’t really happy and though she hadn’t asked she knew that he was still stuck on Craig Dean, couldn’t move forward from where he was at the minute. In Jacqui’s experience sometimes all you needed to move forward on unfinished business was to, well, to finish it - once and for all. John Paul had probably thought he had finished it at the airport but she rather thought that they both knew better now. Maybe all he needed was to see that Craig had moved on, was dating again, wasn’t in pieces over the break-up. Maybe that would help him.

And she had meant to keep Craig updated on John Paul’s doings but that hadn’t exactly been a priority in nick and it wasn’t like she actually knew what her brother was doing except in the very broadest terms. But now she was out it was probably time to suss him out again. She could send him a text or even phone him, but it was summer, she’d just got out of nick and a nice weekend break in Dublin was probably exactly what the doctor would have ordered.

She was grinning to herself as she bagged a table in the popular cafe in the city centre, deciding that she might as well treat herself while she was here, maybe do a bit of clothes shopping too.

Jacqui recognised her as soon as she walked in but didn’t make an effort to attract her attention, but as the tall, slim figure turned, plate in hand, their eyes met and after a very awkward pause Sarah Barnes smiled and walked over to her.

“Hi.”

“Hi, you alright?”

“So so. You?”

“Well I’m better now I’ve just got out of nick.”

“Yeah I heard something about that. Bet you’re glad to be home, aren’t you?”

“D’you know what? For the first time in a long while I can honestly say I am.” 

The other woman’s smile seemed sincere enough but Jacqui could sense her unease.

“Sit down why don’t you? I hear you’ve got yourself a nice little flat in town.”

Sarah sat, placed her plate – looked like some sort of pasta dish – on the table and hung her bag on the back of the chair. “Yeah, just above the row of shops in the high street. Do you know where I mean?”

Jacqui whistled. “Bit pricey that! You’ve done well for yourself, girl.”

Sarah smiled. “I think I have and before you say anything I know modelling’s not exactly – I mean I know it’s not like being a teacher or an accountant-“

“I’ll say. You actually get paid a decent wage for a start and you go jetting off to sunny climes, meet really fit blokes-“

“Most of whom are gay.”

“Still fit though, right?”

They both laughed.

“Speaking of fit gay blokes, how’s your brother?” Sarah seemed intent on chasing a recalcitrant pasta shell around her plate, very clearly avoiding eye contact with her companion.

Jacqui considered for a second. “Our John Paul? He’s doing okay. Down in Aberystwyth. Studying English and creative writing.”

“He was always good at English.”

“Bit of a swot, him and our Tina –no idea where they get it from. They’re like cuckoos in the nest or- What’s that thing called when they switch your kid at birth and-“

“Changeling.”

“Yeah the two of them are like changelings.”

“Oh I don’t know, I’d have said that John Paul had at least a couple of the family traits.” She didn’t even try to keep the bite out of her voice, meeting Jacqui’s look head on, unapologetic, mildly challenging.

Jacqui shrugged. “For cheating and lying you mean? Well whadda you know, he    
  
_is_   
  
a McQueen after all.” She bit into her sandwich, staring back at her. She didn’t really blame the girl for feeling bitter but still, she needed to tread carefully when it came to maligning the McQueen clan.

 

Sarah looked away, lips pursing in what seemed like resentful anger. “I know I’m supposed to be over it but I’m not. Your brother – John Paul really hurt me and I can’t forgive him. Not yet, maybe not ever. Every time I see him I think of them in bed together.” Her eyes were moist, grey with pain. “I don’t think anyone really knows what it felt like for me seeing them there together like that. It made me lose it. I don’t think I’d have made that scene if I’d been in my right mind cos I do regret it. Every time I remember it, remember that scene, I cringe, but seeing them turned my head inside out. I was    
  
_so_   
  
shocked.” The tears were falling unheeded down her cheeks now as she fixed Jacqui with a pleading stare. “I had no idea – none. It was like opening the door and finding some bizarre scene from a – a – Dali painting or something. Craig, my boyfriend, all over his best mate when a minute earlier he’d been telling me he loved me, that we’d be together for ever and ever. That night it was like all my dreams had come true – everything I wanted, there for the taking. And then I walk in on them and you know what, I should have known it was John Paul behind it all.” Her voice and face had hardened but Jacqui didn’t take umbrage since all this was news to her. Oh she’d heard the John Paul version of events: it was a bit different hearing this version. “I mean it was a shocking situation, me walking in on them, and Craig looked really shocked, but    
  
_he_   
  
didn’t – John Paul wasn’t shocked at all. Looking back, seeing it in my mind’s eye, I see him just sitting there, staring at me, not shocked, not upset, just sort of...watching... as though he was wondering which way I’d jump.” She was definitely angry now. “And of course he was – he’d sent that text, leading me up there, allowing me to find them like that. He admitted it to me you know: said he had to do it that way or Craig would have been able to talk his way out of it.” She gave a bitter laugh, pushing her untouched food around her plate. “And you know what, he’s right. Craig’s got that ability – to talk you round. The number of times he talked me into taking him back-“

“Really? You fell out a lot? I used to see you both, joined at the hip, all over each other. Never thought you’d ever had a tiff, let alone split up.”

“Yeah well, we had more than our fair share of break-ups and shall I tell you something- and this hurts almost more than anything that’s happened - but I think, no I know that a lot of the times the break-ups were down to John Paul-“

“Now wait a minute-“

“No, for once I’m not putting all the blame on him,” she assured. “It’s just I’ve had a lot of time to try to make sense of what’d been going on. I may be on the wrong track for a lot of it, but with John Paul filling me in – no I made him do it – I think I can put it together: the times we made up and him and John Paul sleeping together. He told me – the last time I saw him, in Dublin – he told me that he was terrified of being with John Paul, terrified of people knowing about them so he needed to be with me, needed me as cover so that he’d have an excuse for not _openly_ being with him.” She was crying in earnest now and Jacqui felt angry on her behalf, angry on behalf of _all_ the women who had been and were being used that way.

She took Sarah’s hand and squeezed. “Alright love, I’m taking you home. We’re going to get blind drunk and bitch all night. Game?”

“But John Paul – I mean he’s- he’s your brother.”

“Don’t matter – he was a shit for doing what he did and I’m not going to deny that, so come on.”

As she led a snuffling Sarah out of the shop she fixed her mind on the talk she was going to have with Mr. Craig Dean. She’d have a slightly different talk with her brother. Yeah he’d behaved badly but he was her baby, she’d forgive him anything and well, that’s all there was to it.

 

**

 

Dean’s Boy:

 

I don’t know about love, do you?

Everyone who writes writes about it

We all think we know

We all think it’s happened to us

Or maybe we ask when it will

I think it’s happened to me

But maybe your definition of love wouldn’t fit

Maybe you’d think I’m deluding myself

Cos we all think we know about love

Yet the only conclusion I’ve come to is that I don’t know about love. I don’t.

Do you?

 

 

**

“So how serious is it with you two?”

Mark was setting the table for them, movements quick and efficient. He’d been spending a lot of time at the flat recently and Fiona hadn’t liked it. Craig, after years of compromising – for his mother, for Darlene, for Sarah – had told her that Mark was a mate, that he wanted him there and that if she didn’t like it she could look elsewhere for her daily fuck. He’d expected her to go off in a strop the way Sarah would have but his assertiveness had seemed to turn her on because a second later she’d been on him like a rabid fox.

Mark had been at the door when she was leaving and for some reason she’d felt the need to stick her tongue down Craig’s throat, rub herself up against him, generally act like they were love’s young dream before –eventually - taking her leave. So really it was no wonder Mark was asking the question.

“Not particularly.” He set the casserole dish on the table. “Do you want a can or fruit juice?”

“Stupid question,” Mark admonished, seating himself across from Craig. “You know I don’t drink and drive.”

“Yeah I know, but who says you have to drive tonight? I mean I know my poky flat’s not what you’re used to but there’s a nice, comfortable sofa bed and you know you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Bloody hell mate are you that keen to get rid of your rubbish ale?” He reached for the casserole dish. “You could just pour it down the sink.”

“I hate waste.”

“Oh I’m so flattered. You ask me to spend the night just so’s you can palm your dodgy lager off on me.”

“Well that is the definition of friendship.”

“In some really bizarre lads’ lexicon maybe. Anyway I’ll stay if you reconsider my offer.”

“Mate, you know I want to but I told you it’s just too close to home.”

“And I get that – I’m not close to my family either - but I hate the thought of you spending summer here when you could spend it with me. I’m travelling this summer and there are some people I’d like you to meet.”

“You know how I feel about paying my way.”

“And I’ve told you that I’d give you a loan, at favourable rates of course, but you’d be expected to _repay_ it. Don’t see what the problem is.”

And there wasn’t one really, not when you looked at it that way, but Mark was stinking rich and Craig already felt awkward enough about not being able to match him in terms of the quality of food or entertainment stakes. Actually being up close and personal with his rich lifestyle was bound to make him feel worse.

“Look, Craig, I’ll come clean.”

“Oh don’t tell me; you’re ready to persuade me to be your boytoy.”

Mark snorted. “With your temper? Do me a favour – too much like hard work, mate. No you’re not boytoy material, but you’re sort of on the right track-“

“Oh aye?” 

“I don’t want to be your sugar daddy, but I would like to be your mentor. You know I didn’t start out with a silver spoon in my mouth and though I’d always been comfortable since leaving home and making my own way in the world the sort of money I’m making now... I know you’ve got a good business brain on you and I also know you like the trappings of wealth. I’m willing to show you the ropes and mentor you until you’re able to make it by yourself. It doesn’t mean giving up your studies, but I thought you staying with me, travelling with me this summer would help you to decide one way or another if it’s the sort of thing you might be interested in.”

Craig stared at him for a moment, still unable to figure the guy out. He hadn’t expressed any sexual interest in Craig, had never given the slightest clue that he saw him as anything other than a mate, but from the first he’d seemed determined to show him how he made his money though not by actually saying what he did apart from ‘I work for myself’- obviously hoping to get him into the same line of work. And Craig just wasn’t sure...

“I don’t know. You really think it would be something I’d be interested in doing?”

“Well I’m not going to lie and say that it’s the most exciting way of making money, but the point is it does make money – tons of it. And it’s nothing illegal or sordid.” He laughed. “Well you’re that easy to read, Craig; it’s obvious you think I’m going to take you to Thailand, sell you to a sex tourist or summat.”

Craig grinned. “Well it    
  
_could_   
  
happen.”

“I guess, but I’m just too ordinary and boring to even know how to _make_ those sorts of contacts so, your arse is quite safe.”

Craig raised an eyebrow at this, but didn’t pursue it. “Can I let you know by Sunday?”

“Sure. I’m heading back to Manchester on Tuesday so that should be fine. This is bloody tasty. You’re a damn good cook.”

“It’s the French in me.”

“I always guessed Italian.”

“That too and Scottish, Danish, Jewish.”

“That would explain it then.”

“What?”

“The gorgeous eyes and skin along with the vicious temper.”

“Well you’d have to explain that one: where’s the vicious temper from?”

“Well I’ve been out with a few Celts and every one of them had the most amazing ability to throw a strop. I mean I’m talking academy award level.”

Craig laughed. “Well I do get the temper from both sides I think, so-“

“You had no chance.”

“Something like that.”

They finished up the meal in relative silence and after washing up, watched dvds until midnight when Craig suggested they have a night-cap before getting ready for bed.

“I wasn’t expecting to stay so I haven’t exactly come prepared. Can I shove me clothes in your washing machine? Borrow a t-shirt, maybe some pyjama bottoms?”

“Sure. I’ll sort all that and get the sofa ready while you have the first shower. I’ll leave the stuff outside the door for you.”

“You’re a star.” 

 

Later, after they’d both showered and changed into sleep clothes, left the machine humming away in the background, they drank the hot chocolate Mark had made, both of them similarly reluctant to end the evening.

“So, Fiona?”

“I told you – we’re not particularly serious. She’s fun, we have a laugh.”

“She feels threatened by me.”

Craig reined in his temper. “She knows there’s nothing going on. I’m her boyfriend for fuck’s sake. I spend all day fucking her through the mattress, why would she think there was anything going on between me and you?”

Mark was silent for a moment. “I meant she felt threatened by our friendship – that you’re spending the time you should be spending with her with me instead. It’s not that uncommon – significant others often feel that they’re sharing their partners with friends etc.”

Craig snorted. “You can tell you’re gay. 'Significant others',” he quoted derisively. “Who says that with a straight face?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “You are such a lad sometimes. You weren’t ever a Millwall supporter were you?”

“Oh you’ve done it now.” He placed his mostly empty cup on the table and grabbing a cushion fell on Mark before he had time to react. Luckily the other man had finished his chocolate and the tiny drop that fell from the overturned cup landed unheeded on the duvet. He managed to cover his head and face, pulling his knees up for protection but not before Craig had managed to get in several good shots. “Take. It. Back.”

“Why when this just proves it?” He’d managed to grab hold of one of his pillows but Craig threw himself on him, trying to stop him using it and they wrestled for control of the weaponry for a few breathless moments, eventually landing in a heap on the carpet, tangled up in sheet and duvet, weak with childish laughter.

“You are a knob,” Mark pronounced breathlessly, staring up at him.

“You started it,” Craig countered, amazed all over again that eyes, mere eyes, a _man’s_ eyes, could be that beautiful. “You have got the most amazing eyes,” he said softly.

“Ditto,” The response was equally quiet.

They lay staring at each other and Craig knew that he was going to – he’d been here once before when a bad, bad idea had suddenly become an astoundingly good one. And besides he could no longer quite convince himself that this   
  
_was_   
  
a bad idea. “I want to kiss you.”

“I know. I want you to.”

“I can’t promise-“

“Shhh.” The tip of a long, slender finger pressed against his mouth. “Just one thing, promise me just one thing.” The finger had migrated to the side of his face, moving in a caress both soothing and stimulating. “That you’ll never be ashamed of this, never be ashamed of wanting me, even if it is only for the one night.”

Craig leaned down and kissed him. “I’m not ashamed. I’m actually pretty proud of myself for finally admitting that I want this, plus I kinda think you’re the sexiest ex-footballer alive, so...”

“Oh see I knew it was the football that got you hot.”

Craig stretched himself fully on top of Mark, kissing him warmly, the low curl of arousal beginning to make its presence felt low in his groin. “And if you’ll do the commentary while we’re at it, I might just come like a freight train.”

“Well now, how the fuck can I resist an offer like that?”

 

**

 

“That was nice.” A lingering kiss at the nape of his neck.

Craig groaned. “Nice? I’m still trying to locate the top of my head!” He drew Mark’s hand around him, placing it on his damp stomach. He shivered as Mark licked a long leisurely trail up his sweat damp neck. “Don’t tell me you’re up for another round. I’ve hardly caught my breath. Anyway shouldn’t you be a bit sore? I went at you pretty hard.”

Mark laughed, leaning in to plant a loud kiss on his cheek. “I told you – fucking a guy’s not the same as fucking women and it    
  
_doesn’t_   
  
bloody hurt, not if you’ve got a guy who knows what he’s doing and you trust him.”

“Well according to you _I_ didn’t bloody know what I was doing.” He pouted, but laughed a minute later as Mark kissed him again. “I didn’t think being told you were an incompetent idiot could be such a turn on. I must be sick in the head.”

Mark hugged him close, grinning into his hair. “ Well I’ve no opinion on that one and anyway I never said you were incompetent. I just wanted to remind you that a different technique is required when you’re trying to reach the male G spot.” Another very affectionate kiss dealt to Craig’s temple. “And you’re a very quick study. Amazing, in fact.”

Craig snorted. “You’re only saying that so I’ll keep fucking you.”

“Well yeah, but why would I want that if you weren’t any good?”

“Hmmm,” he said, unable to counter the logic of that. And it wasn’t like he’d been offended in any way at the impromptu tutorial. Being instructed had never before been quite so enjoyable. “You’re pretty good too, at – you know...”

“Fellatio?” he asked neutrally, but Craig could hear the laughter underneath.

He smacked him on the left flank, allowing his hand to remain there, enjoying the feel of lean muscle and smooth skin under his palm. “Yeah, you’re a great cocksucker.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Good, it was meant as one.”

Mark hugged him close, not speaking, but Craig could sense he wanted to say something and waited, wondering where this was going, how serious it would get. At the moment it was still two mates having a good time. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to be more than that.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Craig, but that wasn’t the first – or even the second or third time – you’ve sucked cock. If you really don’t want to talk about it I’ll drop it, but I have to admit to being just a little confused. I pretty much thought I’d be the first.”

Craig swallowed, aware that this could turn awkward – for him, not Mark. Mark wasn’t the jealous type. Craig hadn’t really needed to be told this, but had been gratified when Mark had confirmed it earlier - before they’d done the deed - assuring him that whatever he had going with Fiona wouldn’t be affected by what they were doing, that he really didn’t do the jealousy thing. And the truth was he didn’t really know what he was doing, didn’t know what to make of this thing with Mark. He wasn’t in love with him, he knew that, but the sex had been mind-blowing and he knew that he didn’t want that to stop. So did that make him a little bit gayer than he had been earlier that day? Would he eventually prefer to have sex with guys and if so wouldn’t that make him just like Spike and John Paul? He was always going to be attracted to women – well at least he thought that’d be the case, but hadn’t John Paul been attracted to girls until he realised that he wanted Craig, until he knew what he preferred? And right now he knew that when it came to sex he preferred men. Of course Mark and John Paul were very special cases – they each had that extra special something that just...did it for him... and there was nothing to say that other guys – any other guy – would ever do it for him in the future. He did have to admit though that if there were only to ever be Mark and John Paul in his sexual future he wouldn’t exactly be crying about it...And what did    
  
_that_   
  
mean, exactly?

With a heartfelt sigh he took Mark’s hand in his, playing with his fingers. “So I impressed you as a practised cocksucker then?”

Mark chuckled. “Well that’s not quite the way I would have put it but yeah, I suppose. I’d expected you not to even go there, even if I asked –“

“Yeah well, I _like_ going there.”

“Oh I know you do, believe me. I just – I mean was there just the one guy?”

“Yeah, just the one,” he confirmed in a quiet voice, still playing with the slender fingers.

“So you were a couple? I mean it wasn’t just a one-night stand, was it? I think I’m pretty safe in saying that, aren’t I?”

“No, not a one night stand. I was – am – in love with him.”

He could sense that this had caught Mark by surprise. “Oh.” He could practically feel him discard question after question, obviously not knowing which tack to take and Craig sat still for it, allowing the silence to build around them. It still didn’t feel awkward or tense, though he could sense that Mark was quivering with curiosity.

“Well you certainly managed to fool me, fool me completely. I did _not_ see that one coming at all!”

Craig smiled to himself. “Trust me, neither did I.”

“Ah, so he seduced you then?”

“I seduced _him_.”

Mark was silent for a moment before letting rip with a colourful string of swear words.

Craig laughed out loud. “What? You find that hard to believe?”

“Well, kind of. I mean with your baby face and butter wouldn’t melt... not to mention your obvious straightness... yeah I do find it hard to believe, but it sounds like quite a story. Care to tell?”

“Not sure, to be honest. We’re not together and it’s still a bit raw. I mean even now I’m still a bit mixed up in my head, cos there’s Fiona and now there’s you. It’s like I’m still not able to choose who and what I am-“

“Bollocks. You don’t choose who you are – you just are who you are and at the minute you seem to be a guy who likes it with both guys _and_ girls. Not like it’s that bloody unusual. And this may come as a surprise but there was a time when _I_ only slept with girls.”

“What?” Craig turned in his surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s not really that unusual for gay men to sleep with women before they decide what they prefer, before they meet someone who makes it impossible to keep pretending.”

“Is that what happened with you?” he asked, thinking of John Paul and that whole mess with Hannah. “Did you meet someone?”

“Not really. I just decided that since I was obviously attracted to guys I owed it to myself to try it and see, see if it was something that worked for me. Turned out it was and though I don’t regret sleeping with women it’s not something I’m likely to be doing again any time soon though I know that saying never is the recipe for summat coming up and biting you hard in the arse.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, thinking of where he was now – in bed with a man who _wasn’t_ John Paul – when he’d been certain, had told everyone who cared to listen, that John Paul was a bizarre one-off and he’d never be attracted to any other man. 

“But you’re obviously still working out the kinks aren’t you?”

Craig laughed. “Speaking of kinks. Are there any I should be made aware of?”

“Apart from the sitting on my face thing you mean?” He bit gently into the flesh of Craig’s upper arm.

“Mmmm, that was nice.”

“Yeah it was. That is a bit of a kink I must admit, but apart from that no, nothing I can think of. You?”

“Well Jo- the guy I was with – he liked me to – well he liked me to sit astride him and well...”

“Fuck his mouth,” he supplied matter-of-factly, smiling when Craig turned to look at him. “What? It’s not that unusual. I kinda like it too. Maybe we can do that next time. Unless you want to keep it as something you only do with-“

“No, no,” he put in hastily. “No I don’t mind doing it with you.”

He felt Mark’s smile against his shoulder. “Well then.”

Craig grinned, pushed his arse against the other man’s groin. “Hmmm, someone’s interested,” he teased. “Does that get you hot, the thought of me fucking your mouth?”

“And sitting on my face, and fucking me till I’m a limp rag. Yeah I’d say that the thought of any kind of sexual activity with you gets me pretty hot.”

“I was thinking... Me and Jo- well we never went all the way. I let him finger me, but I was a bit squeamish about returning the favour and he tried to, you know... do what you did – with his tongue - but I wouldn’t let him-“

“Ooops, wasted opportunity.”

“Tell me about it. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

“Yeah, kinda like being fucked – you can’t imagine how good it’s gonna feel until you do it. And I’ll be honest; like in everything else some lovers are better than others, but these days if a man isn’t doing it right I don’t just lie back and think of England I make _sure_ he gets it right.”

“I did notice.” He accepted Mark’s kiss with a grin.

“Well what’s the point of having sex if you’re not both having fun?”

“True enough.”

“And no offence, Craig, but I know what it’s like with... straight relationships – the woman puts up with mediocre sex so long as she’s got a man who’s half-way decent, half the time not even coming from it. The guy gets used to pushing up her nightie, sticking it in, doing the business, then rolling away to his side of the bed, lucky to get a blowjob once in a blue moon and usually only cos she wants more housekeeping or a new kitchen.”

Craig frowned, surprised at the bitterness in his friend’s voice. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he observed.

“Well, kind of. I was involved in a pretty heavy relationship when I was about 18. We lived together, would probably even have got married except I was too much of a selfish bugger to give her all this material stuff she seemed to relish and get nothing in return. I didn’t love her. When you’re 18 you throw the word around like it’s going out of fashion, but I know now that whatever I had with her it wasn’t love, not the kind of love you’d die - or kill for. I’m not saying loving someone like that is necessarily a healthy thing, but once you experience it...”

They were both silent for a long time after this, each busy with his own thoughts.

“I think I know what you mean,” Craig said eventually. “And I know I’m a few weeks shy of my twentieth so it’s still recent history for me but I was involved in a heavy relationship when I was 18 too. No, a girl and I did love her, but it wasn’t the same as... I was sleeping with both of them and yeah I know it was wrong. No, trust me I behaved like a shit – especially to Jo- Put it down to cowardice, that and not really understanding what the fuck I was doing, how the fuck I’d managed to fall in love with my best friend. The thing is it bloody terrified me cos, after a while, being with him, _not_ being with – didn’t matter – just made me half-crazy I wanted him so much, and I really began to wonder what I’d do if he ever really broke it off with me. But I was _more_ terrified of what people would say about me; how I’d feel being labelled a queer, how it’d feel if I had to start living as a gay man. Yeah I know but I just don’t see why you’re automatically put into these silly little boxes just cos of how you look or who you choose to sleep with. I just wanted to be Craig - Craig who’s in love with John Paul but still the same fucking _person_. 

Everyone saw me differently the moment they knew I’d been sleeping with him and in a way that sort of told me I’d been right to keep it secret. If I hadn’t been going to Trinity the following week I don’t know how –    
  
_if_   
  
– I’d have coped. He’s supposed to be here with me right now, you know, but I messed up. Really messed up.” He sighed gustily, no longer surprised at how much this still hurt. Why hadn’t he kissed him? Did other people’s opinion really matter more than being happy with his lover, the man who would have faced down entire armies for him? Ignorant, spiteful strangers who though they had the right to pass judgement on anyone who stepped outside the lines, no matter that they weren’t harming anyone, they were more important than making John Paul happy?

“What did you do?” Mark’s voice was gentle.

“I let him down.”

“How?”

“We were at the airport, going away – to Dublin. I’d told his family, my family, my _girlfriend_ that I was in love with him. Everything was set – we were going to make a new start here in Dublin. He’d given up his university course to be with me, and though he was really close to his family he was prepared to leave all of that behind for me too. And we were fine; everything was going fine, until my brother decided to turn up to see me off. The thing is when he found out – about me and JP – he was disgusted, more or less disowned me and hadn’t been around to see me off so him turning up at the airport was unexpected, to say the least. 

I was angry at first until I realised that he was trying to make it up with me, trying to explain why he’d been that way. Basically he couldn’t cope with me and John Paul, with the thought of me being different, gay. I told him I wasn’t, that I still fancied girls, that John was the only guy, that I’d never sleep with any other guy – just him. It wasn’t the sort of conversation I ever thought I’d have with him and it was the wrong time, wrong place for it. Anyway the upshot was John took exception to me saying I wasn’t gay, asked me to prove I loved him by kissing him in the airport and I chickened out – couldn’t do it. He left me there.”

“Oh Craig.” Mark’s arms tightened around him.

“I was a knob wasn’t I?”

“I don’t know – I wasn’t there - and I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you do. I never really went through any sort of identity crisis. I may have been sleeping with a woman, but I didn’t consider myself straight – I think that might be the real difference between us. What I mean is I didn’t build my identity around my sexual preferences. If I fancied blokes I fancied blokes – big bloody deal. Since, as you said, I’d still be me regardless, fancying blokes or fancying girls...not an issue.” He shrugged. “So I honestly can’t empathise that way, but I can understand and sympathise...”

“Yeah it’s like no-one, not even John Paul, understood what I was going through. I mean I’d never even thought of another bloke that way until him. I’d been brought up in a culture that’s pretty homophobic – I mean it is, isn’t it? And because I didn’t know any gay guys – until John Paul – I guess I was fairly homophobic myself. I mean I would never have queer bashed anyone, but gays were like a foreign species and the thought of even touching another guy in an intimate way would turn me right off. So I knew I was straight. And then...he told me he was in love with me and it rocked my world – not in a good way - but I had to try to come to terms with it because I needed him in my life. 

And we tried to make it work, tried to ignore the way he felt, pretend everything was back to normal. But we both got hammered and had a bit of an accidental kiss at the school dance. Not on the dance floor or anything – but his girlfriend saw us and got hold of the wrong end of the stick and pretty soon the entire village got to know about it. He came out because of it and that’s when we fell out big time. I mean everyone was calling me queer cos he’d come out after he’d kissed me so obviously everyone jumped to the conclusion that if he was gay and had kissed me then I must be gay too. I lost my girlfriend over it and though we – Sarah and me – eventually got back together me and John Paul were in trouble.

Anyway I ended up beating him up, egged on by some homophobic twats in the football team, and that was that – we were done. But eventually my girlfriend – and the irony just slays me – Sarah conspired to get us talking again and we made it up. In a way I suppose that was the beginning of the end. And I don’t even know    
  
_when_   
  
I fell for him, but looking back I honestly don’t think my feelings for him, even before all this, were exactly platonic cos when I knew he was sleeping with this other guy – his first boyfriend - I went mental! And that’s not exactly normal, is it?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“I hated that guy sooo much. More than was normal, more than he honestly deserved. I still hate him by the way: he slept with John Paul and that’s _never_ going to be alright. Even when John Paul broke up with him - for _me_ \- I was still jealous, still wanted to kill him whenever I saw him, whenever I thought of him all over John.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah, and you don’t even know the half of it. I used to think about it at night, plan ways of murdering him – the most painful ways I could imagine. It wasn’t just that he was an egotistical, up himself wanker, he acted like he was the cock of the walk, like being gay was normal, totally acceptable and I _hated_ him for that. He’d kiss him in public, just like that, like it was nothing, when I couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t touch him, couldn’t show everyone that he was mine. Even when I won, when John admitted it was me he was in love with, when Spike was given the elbow, I couldn’t stop hating him.” He sighed. “I’m not sure what I’ll do if I ever meet the guy John Paul starts ...dating...after me...”

“So he’s supposed to keep himself in aspic until you come to your senses?”

“Yes,” he said fiercely. “You want me to be honest? Well yeah, that’s exactly what I want.”

“Afraid he’ll get a better offer, that he’ll forget you?”

“Yeah – because he _can_ do better – much better. I’m a psychotically jealous, possessive, emotionally stunted excuse for a lover who wants everything his own way, who doesn’t know how to compromise, who’s prepared to hurt the man he loves just so he won’t have to face an uncomfortable truth about himself.”

“Well maybe so, but in my experience love isn’t exactly logical. And yeah he may have reached his limit with how much he’s prepared to put up with from you, but I’m guessing he hasn’t reached his limit when it comes to still loving you.”

Craig sighed deeply. “I wish I could say that it doesn’t matter if he still loves me, that no matter what it’s best I allow him to find someone else, allow him to move on, but the truth is that’s not the way I feel. I’m still crazy about him, still want to spend my life with him by my side and I know that makes me a selfish prick, but that’s what I am – a selfish prick who just can’t seem to let it go. It’s like the way it ended was just...wrong. I think if he’d ended it on one of the many occasions I let him down; while I was still sleeping with Sarah, promising him I’d break up with her, too cowardly, too selfish to make a choice, then I’d find it easier to accept. But us finishing because I needed more time to get used to who I’d become, no, that doesn’t feel right to me. I’m not saying I blame him for not giving me the time, but I just think that maybe if he knew that I was trying...” He trailed off, wondering if he sounded like a whining coward who still couldn’t take responsibility for the things he had - and hadn’t - done.

Mark’s squeeze on his arm was reassuring. “I think you’re giving yourself a really hard time over this, mate. You mucked up – maybe you mucked up in a big way, I don’t know – but the point is you’re admitting it and my guess is that you want to do something to set things right. So just concentrate on what you do now and not on what you did or didn’t do then. Okay?”

Craig closed his eyes, realising just how much he’d needed to hear that. “Thank you,” he said simply, meaning it.

Mark kissed him on the jaw. “I’ll give you all the help, all the advice you need, but don’t expect me to pull any punches. If you’re being a pillock or an arsehole I’ll tell you about yourself and I won’t mince my words either.”

Craig laughed. “I wouldn’t recognise you otherwise.” He turned and sought Mark’s mouth. “I need to get a bigger bed, don’t I?”

“You need to get a bigger flat!”

 

**

 

“How you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Studies going ok?”

“As well as can be expected. I’ve had the exam and that went well so no complaints.”

“And you are coming home this summer, aren’t you John Paul?”

“Carmel, I told you. There’s a lot going on down here: social things, things that might be important for my future.”

“With the dj-ing you mean?”

“Yeah and the writing. Some of us are planning something – a writing project. I’m not committed – yet – but I think I should be here for that.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t come up for at least some of the holiday. It’s 12 weeks, John Paul, surely you can spare us a couple of days out of 12 weeks.”

“Yeah and I will try-“

“We all miss you. Mum’s moping about the house cos you don’t phone her enough.”

“I know and I’ll put my hand up to that one – I should phone more and I promise that I will – but I honestly don’t feel I’m ready to spend more than a couple of days in Hollyoaks, Carm. Christmas was really bad for me.”

“I know, but he won’t be there and Sarah’s hardly in the village at all these days. And you’ve got to face it some time, John Paul. I mean you managed to face them in The Dog at Christmas, didn’t you? And we’ll all be with you –“

“I know, sis, and you’re right. Okay, I’ll be there – two weeks okay?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, Carm. Going now. Thanks for phoning.”

“Don’t be silly. Bye then, John Paul. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

**

A tall girl answered the door and the look on her face – sort of ‘who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing knocking on Craig’s door!’ – had Jacqui mark her down as the girlfriend straight off. She was quite a looker, but there was something about her...

“Craig not in?”

“Who wants to know?”

Jacqui wasn’t particularly good with accents and all Irish people pretty much sounded the same to her, but she knew enough – maybe by instinct – to recognise that this was not the accent you’d find in the slums of Dublin. Plus she knew a stuck-up cow when she met one, no matter her nationality. “A friend,” she said with a sugary smile, pushing her way past the girl who, clearly used to more refined manners, stood frozen to the spot, making no effort to stop her.

Craig Dean was sitting at the small table, head low over his books but looked up as she came in, eyes widening in surprise, then pleasure as he began to smile, rising to greet her.

“Craig, do you know her? I tried to ask her-“

“No, Fiona, it’s ok. This is Jacqui – Jacqui McQueen – from back home.”

The girl – Fiona – pushed past her then wrapped her arms around Craig’s waist, a false smile sent Jacqui’s way. “Oh one of your sister’s friends – no, wait, one of your brother’s friends – he’s the eldest isn’t he? About 10 years older you said.”

“No, not exactly.” He seemed embarrassed, for obvious reasons: Jacqui presumed he hadn’t filled her in on the Craig and John Paul saga since most men - even those who weren’t Craig Dean (aka cowardly shits) - would have been hard pressed to admit _that_ little past ‘indiscretion’ to the current love interest. 

Like most men he had missed the undercurrent between the two women and had certainly not understood the little dig sent Jacqui’s way.

“I’m his mate’s sister,” she put in, cutting him off. “Who’s come all the way across the water to see him. Least he could do is put on a brew. You know how parched I get when I have to travel more than a couple of miles.”

Fiona looked from Craig to Jacqui and back again. “Oh this is Mark’s sister?” Her look turned accusing. “Thought you said he was an only child.”

“He is – she’s not Mark’s sister. Look do you want that tea, Jacqui?” He seemed flustered for some reason Jacqui couldn’t fathom.

“I said didn’t I? Need some help there?”

“I wouldn’t mind-“

“I’ll help, Craig. You make a horrible cup of tea-“ She said this with a grin, but there was a touch of frost there unless Jacqui had lost all capacity for reading between the lines.

“Well it might be horrible for other people but he makes it just the way I like it.”

The two women stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. She didn’t know why Fiona had taken against her like this, but if she wanted to play Jacqui was more than up for it.

“No, look, I’ll make it. Sit down please, Jacqui. Fi, could you help out a bit?” With a smile that looked more than a little forced he ducked into the kitchen, Fiona on his heels.

Jacqui didn’t sit: she scurried to the door leading into the kitchen (now firmly closed) and listened.

“Look it’s not like that – we’re friends. She’s my best mate’s sister – I’m hardly going to-“

“I thought Mark was your best mate.”

“Well he is – _here_ – but-“

“She dresses like a prostitute.”

There was a moment’s silence. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Well it’s obvious you’re hiding _something_. It’s like you were embarrassed she’d turned up while I was still here and anyway she’s a brazen tart, obviously on the game.”

“Oh fucking shut up Fiona and if anyone should know about being on the game it’d be you.”

“What? Now you’re accusing _me_ of being a prostitute?”

“No, they get paid for it; they’re honest about it so I guess that would make you a whore then, maybe a tart, slut, slag – I don’t know, pick one.”

“You fucking-“

“Do yourself a favour and end this conversation now. I don’t _want_ to break up with you-“

“Oh my god! I don’t fucking _care_ if you break up with me. You’re boring, in and out of the bedroom. When we’re not in bed you’re either working in the pub, got your head in your books or out somewhere with that queer. I _want_ to break up – should have done it ages ago.”

“Well your choice, Fi and by the way thanks for the blowjobs. They’re not the _best_ I’ve ever had, but you put in a good effort, so well done. And the fucking was good, again not the _best_ -“

When the slap came, loud and painful sounding Jacqui decided she’d heard enough so that when the girl came storming out a few seconds later she was at the table, apparently absorbed by a book on statistics. “Is everything-?”

“Well I hope he’s paying you well. You’ll earn every penny, believe me, but then you lot aren’t doing it for the sex, are you so when you find out he can’t fuck for toffee, doesn’t even know how to rub your clit let alone lick it you won’t be too disappointed will you?” She’d grabbed a garish, multi-coloured backpack, which (even though she should, theoretically, have been spitting chips, too angry to see straight) she took time to slip on and adjust, ensuring she looked her best, breasts pert, vest top showing her flat belly to best effect. “As for me I’m well out of it.”

“Well good luck, love.”

The girl looked at her and for a moment it seemed that she would smile, perhaps share some witty or wistfully resigned comment, but then she clearly remembered Jacqui’s ‘profession’ and with a toss of her head headed for the hall.

Two things happened simultaneously: Craig came in carrying a tray and Fiona had a short heated exchange with someone at the front door, which ended with a slam so hard that the entire flat felt it.

Jacqui met Craig’s eyes, but he looked away a moment later.

“Hang on,” she said, rising, let me clear some of this stuff away. “You don’t have it any particular order, do you? Our John Paul used to go mad, said we’d messed up his ‘system’, just by moving the pile off the table.” She smiled to herself, remembering John Paul’s infamous ‘study strops’.

“No,” Craig said, walking toward the table. “Just put them on the case over there. It’ll be alright. Hey, I didn’t hear you at the door.”

Jacqui became aware of the newcomer at the same time Craig did and therefore saw the unguarded exchange of looks, smiles, before either of them thought to school their faces. So, Craig Dean was business as usual then – fucking the girl    
  
_and_   
  
the boy at the same time.   
  
  
  
She honestly didn’t know whether to be amused or exasperated by the guy.

“Well hardly surprising: I personally thought I’d lost the ability to hear _anything_ after Fiona’s unforgettable exit. Another tiff?”

Craig chuckled and Jacqui was sure now that he’d orchestrated that little scene in the kitchen, clearly wanting to push Fiona into ending it. It was more than obvious that her words hadn’t hurt him at all. “A bit more than that. Looks like she’s been wanting to end it for a while. We had a row and that seemed to do it.” He shrugged, put the tray on the table then turned to his visitor. “This is Jacqui.”

“Hi, Jacqui.” A nod and smile.

“Jacqui – Mark.”

“How do, Mark? A bit far from home eh?” She was practised at schooling her face, hiding her thoughts, playing it cool, so wasn’t _actually_ drooling as she took in the newcomer, but it was a close run thing. What the hell was it about this little runt that had stunners like Sarah, John Paul and now this guy all over him? Did he have some type of aphrodisiac or love drug in his saliva or something?

“Yeah, but you’re lucky to catch me – I’m on my way to the airport in a minute. Just popped in to say goodbye to this reprobate.” The look sent Craig’s way was very fond.

“Still live in Manchester?”

“Yeah, love the old place, can’t imagine being anywhere else. You?”

“Well we moved to Chester, but I still miss it, go back when I can.”

“Yeah it gets in the blood.” He shot a look at Craig, then turned his attention back to Jacqui, his eyes an incredible, mesmerising blue. “You’re from Chester – Craig’s old stomping ground?”

“Yeah. He’s told you about his exploits back home then,” she fished.

He didn’t take the bait. “Actually, getting information out of this guy is a bit like pulling teeth. All I know is that he grew up there, got family back there.”

Yeah right, she thought. That look he’d shot at Craig told her he was lying, but she’d get to the truth sooner or later – no rush - unless he really was planning to leave soon. Had she bollixed up a one-for-the-road session? Is that why Craig had wanted to get rid of his girlfriend so he could spend the afternoon in bed with his boyfriend? This guy was the limit, he really was. Hadn’t he learned    
  
_anything_   
  
from the John Paul situation? And so much for trying again! He’d replaced her brother soon enough – another model perfect specimen – like Sarah, well, to be fair, in a different fucking league from Sarah, from anyone she saw walking on the streets of Chester or anywhere else.

“Right. You work in Dublin, Mark?” she asked, sliding into her seat, making a production of crossing her legs, though she sensed that it was wasted on this one...

The man sat on the arm of the sofa. “No, not exactly. I was here visiting friends when I ran across Craig. I live in Manchester but I come back here now and again to see my friends.”

“You sleep with all your friends?” she asked casually.

She saw Craig’s mouth open in protest, but Mark’s laugh stopped him. “Not    
  
_all_   
  
of them – some of them are women.”

“And you’re not attracted to women.”

“Not sexually, no. In every other way, yeah certainly, but Craig’s the only one of my friends I’m sleeping with if that helps us cut to the chase.”

“There is no chase – I’m just a nosy cow.”

“Who obviously feels she has some vested interested in Craig’s sex life and since you’re not Sarah I’d have to assume then that you’re one of John Paul’s sisters.”

She couldn’t help the surprised look at Craig. So he had come clean – but    
  
_not_   
  
to the girlfriend. Interesting. “His big sister,” she confirmed.

“Who’s prepared to defend her brother’s territory for him. Don’t worry, there’s nothing to defend – Craig’s a friend – neither of us is interested in the other romantically: Craig, because of John Paul and me because of someone in _my_ life. And no, I’m not cheating on him. We’re not together – I just want us to be. So, I hope that pretty much answers most of your questions regarding my place in all this.”

She made a face. “Yeah I’d say it pretty much does, yeah.”

“Good, cos I’m starving. How about I treat you both to a meal before heading to the airport?”

“I never say no to a feed, especially a free one.”

“Me either,” Craig agreed, smiling. “Let me just have a quick shower. Mark, can I see you for a minute?”

Well the minute was the longest she’d ever experienced, made a little more bearable by someone – presumably Craig - playing a dance CD she recognised as one of John Paul’s mixes at a volume that would cover a murder being committed or... anything else. When they both returned some time later, she noticed that Craig had changed his clothes and Mark’s hair was significantly damper than it had been earlier. She might well have been mistaken but she was certain he hadn’t had that love bite on his neck before either. Plus Craig was looking a lot like the cat that’d got the cream and well, to be fair, he probably had...

“So,” Mark said, keys dangling from his hand. “What does everyone fancy?”

Jacqui and Craig exchanged a look that really didn’t need an interpreter to translate and despite her mild chagrin she couldn’t help the grin that broke across her face.

“Well let’s try Chinese tonight, eh?” She winked at the grinning Craig.

“Great. I know this fantastic restaurant. Stuff your face, my treat.”

“Oh don’t worry I will.”

Mark’s chivalry was automatic, effortless, probably innate. He offered his arm and flirted deliciously with her. But when she saw his car her charming escort was all but forgotten as she almost had a mental orgasm, squealing in real delight as the interior was revealed. “Wow, this is a bit posh innit?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Craig agreed with a casual smile, opening the front passenger door. “It’s my favourite. He says it’s a bit flash but he drives it when he’s with me cos he knows I like it.”

Mark rolled his eyes, pulling his seatbelt across his well-shaped shoulders. “The garage fees are astronomical.” He met Jacqui’s eyes in the mirror. “The things I do to please this one. I hate using the ferry so I leave the car here and as I’m not planning on being back in Dublin for a while I’m going to have to consider selling it. Couldn’t let him drive it while I’m gone – he’d kill every tree at the side of the road.”

Craig stared at him. “Mark...”

“Maybe, but you’ll have to prove yourself capable of driving well within the speed limits first and _not_ show off. “ The engine started with a silky purr. “We’ll talk about it. Okay?”

Craig’s grin told Jacqui that there wouldn’t be much talking done: that the decision had already been made and any ‘negotiation’ would be a mere formality, probably conducted between the sheets.

As Mark smoothly guided the car into the flow of traffic Jacqui wondered how she was going to tell her brother about this rival; about the obvious affection and sexual chemistry between them; about the money and the willingness to spend a good gob on it on the boytoy.

No, she needed a word with young Master Dean. Pronto. No way was she letting him mess with John Paul’s head again. Clearly he had a good thing - a very good thing - going with this Mark fella and call her a fool but she didn’t honestly see her John Paul being able to compete with any of this. He needed to know he was out of the picture. It would break her heart to break his but better now than keep him hanging on, hoping for something that was just never going to happen.

 

**

 

Mark had allowed Craig to drive them back home and he’d surprised her by revealing himself to be a confident, skilful driver, easily handling the powerful vehicle, manfully resisting the urge to show off.

Back at Craig’s flat they congregated in the hallway until a look from Craig made it clear that he wanted a bit of space to say his goodbyes and with ill grace she said her own goodbye to Mark before making her way to the living room.

She’d cooled down somewhat during the dinner and drive back to the flat but this just brought it all bubbling up once more. He’d promised he’d tell her if he’d changed his mind; promised he wouldn’t mess with John Paul’s head again. Hadn’t he screwed him up enough as it was? Okay she couldn’t force him to keep loving John Paul – that’s if he’d ever really loved him in the first place and at the moment she had reason to doubt it – but he could at least have the courage, the decency, to make the quick cut rather than drag it out like this. It just wasn’t bloody fair!

When he came in a few moments later, looking smug, well-kissed she confronted him immediately since, at this stage, there was little point in attempting subtlety.

“So he’s the latest notch on the headboard then?”

She saw him frown; looking at her as though, out of nowhere, she’d suddenly sprouted horns - and a tail. “Well no, I don’t think of him that way. I don’t think of any of my...”

She watched in some contempt as he came to the realisation that he couldn’t actually any longer say ‘girlfriend’ with any hope of accuracy. And waited.

“I- I’m not like that – and it’s not _like_ that between me and Mark.” His eyes were bewildered as he stared at her. “I thought you liked him.”

“Oh grow up! I’m here for my brother because the idiot is still in love with you. I expected the girlfriend, _John Paul_ expected the girlfriend, neither of us expected* _him_. Are you determined to completely do his head in? How do you think this is going to make him feel? Another girl he could take, but you can’t be so dense that you can’t imagine what another _guy_ would do to him.”

Craig stared at her in total bewilderment. “What?”

## “I asked you to let me know if you changed your mind-“

“You also said you’d keep in touch. What was I supposed to do when you didn’t even try to make an effort to let me know I was still on your radar? Far as I knew JP was no longer interested and you thought letting me in on the fact wasn’t worth your time. What the fuck was I supposed to think? I didn’t lose interest – you did.”

She wanted to have a go at him, blame him for no longer loving her brother, but he had a point – they’d had a deal and she hadn’t kept up her end. She subsided into what had become her favourite chair. “Yeah well it’s hard to send emails and texts in the nick.” She gave him a wry smile. “Non-payment of fines – 6 months. Served every day of it too. Only just got out. To be honest I haven’t even seen John Paul. Heard from him, but haven’t seen him. Well he hasn’t exactly kept in touch – he’s a menace that way, now he’s away from home thinks he can do as he pleases... Carmel’s the one who’s been making an effort to keep him honest. She says he’s a bit low at the moment, has been for a while.” She met Craig’s eye, still seething with resentment. “I guess I’m just going to have to break his heart for him - –again. Not that he hasn’t got bloody used to that...”

She saw that she’d angered him and inwardly cheered: she was spoiling for a good scrap. Mark was like a brick wall when it came to that sort of thing (she could tell) and Fiona had bowed out with a mere whimper...

“I don’t know what you want me to say – I haven’t heard a fucking word from him for almost a year! I was relying on you to act as my go-between. When you didn’t get in touch I waited and waited and then decided that I couldn’t wait around for-“

“Yeah sounds like true love to me.”

“I know you’re his sister – in fact, it’s only because you are his sister that I put up with your mouth, but don’t make yourself look completely stupid. Like everyone else you’ve decided you know all there is to know about Craig Dean when you haven’t got a clue. John Paul knows I still love him – I know he does. We don’t have to be in the same city, even the same country to know. There may be other girls, other guys, but that’s just living – it’s not the same: they don’t replace him, they _can’t_ replace him. Yeah Mark and me – that’s special, but it’s not like it was with John and me. I don’t love Mark like that – I haven’t loved _anyone_ like that – and Mark... well yes he is pretty special, but he isn’t John Paul. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of him; that I don’t miss him like hell, so you coming here thinking you _know_ , thinking you have a right to tell me how the fuck I feel... it’s bang out of order and I don’t need it - not today, not ever. So you can go now if you like. I’ve put up with a lot from a lot of people but I’ve reached the end of my rope so you know what, you can just get out.”

He went to the door and pulled it open, quivering with the intensity of his emotion.

Jacqui was a little lost for words – she hadn’t expected any of that but she recognised a lie when she heard one and he didn’t seem to be playacting or lying to either himself or to her... Maybe she’d been wrong... Oh she didn’t know; the guy was a complete conundrum!   
“Hold your horses, mate. Let’s just talk, yeah? And I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch and sorry too if I got it wrong, but you can’t blame me for jumping to conclusions; you messed John Paul around for months without batting an eyelid; you’re sleeping with this stunning guy who is clearly really into you-“

“It’s not _like_ that-“

“So obviously I’m going to jump to a certain conclusion. Can’t blame me for that.”

Craig sighed, sat heavily on the sofa. “You know, I haven’t forgiven myself for what I did to John Paul    
  
_and_   
  
Sarah. It was worse for John because he knew – even though I didn’t, not really – he knew that it was him I wanted, that I loved    
  
_him_   
  
more. It’s funny cos he’d been saying that almost from the first time we ever slept together and I kept denying it because I really believed that if it came to it it would have been Sarah I’d choose, but –” He looked across at her. “I don’t know how much he’s told you, but about this time last year we made a pact to break up with our respective partners to be together. He broke up with Spike, but I couldn’t find it in me to break up with Sarah. Lots of reasons; plain cowardice being the most prominent, not wanting to hurt her, not wanting everyone to know about my private life – cos when you start sleeping with a guy everyone seems to think it’s their business. Whatever, I managed to put it off again and again until it was obvious I was going to lose John if I didn’t so I made up my mind to do it, only she dumped    
  
_me_   
  
and it really did my head. Didn’t matter that I’d got what I wanted - without it being my fault, which is something I’d been feeling guilty about - the fact that she’d found reasons to finish with me made my ego go a bit mental. I convinced myself that I needed her, loved her more than I actually did and when she had a change of mind less than a day later, well I was over the moon. But I realised that there was no way I was going to be able to face John Paul so I persuaded Sarah to go on holiday with me – that same day. He saw us at the last minute, ran after the taxi – I pretended not to see him...”

There was a long silence at this, Jacqui’s mouth metaphorically hanging open. No, John Paul hadn’t told her    
  
_any_   
  
of that; surprise, surprise. What a dickhead this guy was! How – no    
  
_why_   
  
the fuck had John Paul even bothered with this twat?

“Yeah I can see what you’re thinking and you’d be right, but that’s the thing – we just couldn’t stay away from each other. I was on holiday, supposedly with the love of my life and all I could think about was him. He finished with me when I got back and it drove me crazy... He finished – tried to finish –loads of times and I wouldn’t let him. The thought of it, of being without him – I just couldn’t, couldn’t take it. So after everything went pear-shaped and Sarah wanted us to get back together I knew that if I said yes there’d be no possibility of ever being with him again and I couldn’t do that – couldn’t imagine my life without him in it – not just as my best mate, but as my love, my lover. She was willing to forgive me – she asked me back 3 times - and 3 times I chose him over her. Without him to sweeten the pot life with her would have been ...not unbearable, no because I did care for her, but I do have to admit that after me and John Paul started up I soon found that she just wasn’t enough anymore. 

It was like I could bear to be with her since I knew he’d be there – as my reward. That sounds so bad and it is, but at the time... I was such a child, such a spoiled, selfish child thinking I could have it all – have it all my own way – wife for respectability, John, my lover, for love and happiness. I deserved to lose them both – I was asking for it, living for months on borrowed time, planning my life around the secret, planning ways to still be with John Paul for, well for ever really. God I must sound so naive.”

“You _sound_ like a selfish wanker!” she corrected with some heat, somehow resisting the urge to place her hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze the very life out of him. “You don’t fucking deserve him!” She had risen to her feet, almost physically repelling the urge to beat his face in. “You could do that – to her, to him – and still expect that I’d let you anywhere near my little brother?” She snatched her bag off the table. “You didn’t get anywhere _near_ what you deserved you self-centred prick! Sarah needs her head read and so does John Paul. At least she’s coming to her senses... No fucking way are you using me to get you anywhere near-“

“No, Jacqui, you can’t. Please don’t ruin this for me-“

“I don’t give a _toss_ about you.” She began to march toward the door, shaking him off when he grabbed her arm.

“Please don’t. Please. I love him. You can’t know how much. I was stupid, I was selfish – please don’t punish him just because you want to hurt _me_. My family have practically disowned me because I won’t let him go, please don’t do the same, please don’t force us apart. Hoping, hoping and believing I’ve got a future with him’s the only thing that’s really kept me going. I know I don’t show how much it hurts but it does, Jacqui, it’s killing me. And if you try to persuade him to give me up I won’t sit still for it – I won’t. I don’t know what I’ll do but I’m tired of not being with him, tired of other people getting between us so if it’s a fight you want believe me I’ll give you one. And I don’t want that – we both love him – I want us to at least be able to get on, but I’m not prepared to lose him all over again – not now, not now I’ve started sorting myself out. And yeah you are right: I didn’t deserve him before, but I’m working on that. Mark’s helped a lot-“

She couldn’t help her rude snort at this, but he merely shrugged.

“I know and I can see why you’d be sceptical, but he’s helped me come to terms, accept my sexuality in a way I never did when John Paul and I were together.”

“Well I’m sure John Paul will hang the medal round his neck personally!”

He examined her face for a long, silent moment before turning back into the room. “There’s obviously nothing I can say to persuade you, but if you care about him half as much as you say you do you won’t try to get between us.”

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” Her outrage had her stalking back into the room.

“Yeah – if you like - the threat simply being that I will fight as hard to be with him as you may fight to turn him against me.” He calmly met her eye. “And I’ll win.” He said it matter-of-factly, without arrogance and her desire to pound him went up - exponentially.

“Yeah,” she said, walking to the door again. “We’ll see.”

Not the best exit line ever, but what could you do? At least she’d had the last word.

 

**

 

The ‘project’ had gone really well: he didn’t know how Tamsin had done it but she’d managed to get 5 writers to spend their valuable time imparting their many words of wisdom to the group. They were a fairly diverse lot: two very well-known novelists – one female and one male, modern lit and Sci-fi respectively. There was a writer of musicals, a journalist (there’d been much fun poked at the fact that he seemed to agree that his profession came under the umbrella of creative writing) and a guy who worked for the BBC who seemed keen that they    
  
_not_   
  
call him a playwright. 

And Tamsin had chosen well, for although all the guests were totally professional and gave valuable insights generously and unstintingly, there was no professional rivalry or jealousy between them, added to which none of them took themselves at all seriously – an unexpected bonus as far as John Paul was concerned. He’d been to a ‘writing workshop’ in the first term and had been by turns bored to the point of sleep and immensely irritated, not to say angered to the point of wanting to walk out. Who knew writers could be such wankers!

The atmosphere was relaxed and informal, the guests making themselves completely accessible to the group, eating with them, having a laugh and joke with them. It had been a good day – one of the few days he could remember enjoying unreservedly since the break-up with Craig – and he’d needed that since he was heading back to Chester the following weekend and really not looking forward to it.

He saw that the guy from the BBC – Kerr Will-Owen – was sitting alone and since it was a clear opportunity didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.

Though he found the guy alarmingly intimidating in the looks department – thick golden blonde hair and dark green eyes, the exact colour of which he was certain existed nowhere else in nature; pale gold skin, slender, elegant limbs – his personality was open and friendly, valiantly masking a shyness that revealed itself now and again in the inability to hold a gaze, the discomfort at the admiring stare... John Paul, fascinated by his beauty, didn’t actually find him all that attractive sexually. At this stage he was pretty sure he had a type, but had lately sworn off dark eyes and hair, resolving to try something else, but this guy was just too beautiful, too...unordinary for his tastes... He liked him though; liked the way he spoke (he was upper class, but had a trace of Welsh in his accent that made it richer somehow, and, like his eyes, startlingly unordinary); liked his sense of humour and his sly digs at his employer and the entertainment industry in general. And for all the huge gulf between their backgrounds John Paul sensed that they were kindred spirits and was quite keen to have a one-to-one with him. But having been swamped before now – mainly by the female contingent – John Paul was sure that there was only a small window before he would be claimed again.

“Alright?”

Will-Owen looked up and though John Paul hadn’t been sure before the way his eyes took him in now – swiftly, appreciatively, albeit subtly – confirmed that he was gay or at least sexually interested in men. “Well I could do with a nice glass of white wine, but yes I suppose I am.” He nodded at the chair opposite. “How about you? Enjoyed the day?”

“Oh yeah.” He sat, taking in the subtle, expensive scent of him. “Better than I thought it’d be.”

Will-Owen laughed. “I don’t know – that could be taken either way, really, couldn’t it?”

“Well take it as a compliment. Obviously I’d heard of the others...”

“But you were wondering what I was doing in amongst such illustrious company when you didn’t know me from Adam.”

“Well actually, no, I had heard of you-“

“Really?”

“I’d seen your name in credits and that, but I was sure that it was as director. I could be wrong...”

“Ah you are being sincere and here I was thinking that you were just flattering me. No, you’re right – I do direct, that’s my profession, the bread and butter – but writing’s my love, the thing I don’t have to get paid to do, though obviously I wouldn’t say no. I’ve been writing for the BBC for a few years, but only recently been ‘allowed’ to take the credit with my own name on projects, with my own plays etc. I’ve got a series in production now – on Radio 4. Do you listen to the radio?”

John Paul laughed. “Well yeah – I’m a dj – but no, I don’t listen to Radio 4 much.”

Will-Owen looked genuinely interested. “A dj? Forgive me but you don’t seem the jabbering type. Oh, is that very rude of me?”

“Rude, honest – depends on where you’re coming from. I wasn’t offended since I don’t think much to the ‘jabbering’ either. You’ll be relieved to know that I’m the type of dj who simply lets the music speak for itself – you never hear a whisper from me – and though I used to think I wanted to be on the radio – I realise that actually I don’t. I do clubs and parties – that sort of thing.”

“Oh, right. So a means to supplement the grant then?”

“Well, a bit more than that – it’s a bit of a passion - music’s a passion.”

“Really? What sort of music?”

“Mostly dance and house. Not your sort of thing I suppose.”

“Oh because obviously I’d prefer classical or jazz - anything that doesn’t have a _beat_ right? Oh don’t worry it’s a natural assumption, but I do like house and dance – not an aficionado mind you, but I do well enough.”

John smiled in delight. “Oh great – maybe we can get together sometime and talk house.” It wasn’t a come on, but he realised that it surely must have sounded like one. “I mean if you want to-“

“I’d be delighted.”

John found himself smiling and nodding, not quite knowing how they’d got here and so fast. When he actually wanted to come on to someone it took ages...

“So I assume that you’ve bearded the lion in his den to pick his brains – and sorry I just couldn’t resist the mixed metaphors.” His smile revealed perfect white teeth. “So. I’m at your disposal: what would you like to know about writing screenplays?”

 

**

### 

July 2008

 

### “I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, mate, but you’re being a right pain in the arse.”

“Oh thanks, and so sorry for not being more entertaining, but you know it’s not every day you lose the love of your life.” Craig bashed a cushion before placing it behind him and leaning back – violently.

“How do you work that out? What’s changed since I last saw you in Dublin? You fell out with his sister who threatened to – actually what exactly did she threaten?”

“You weren’t there so you can’t know. She was determined to keep us apart. I’m sure she was going to remind him of how badly I treated him, tell him about you, persuade him that I can’t ever be trusted-“

“So?”

“So?” This made him sit up, amazed that Mark, usually so sensitive and supportive, was being such a pig. “So it means that he won’t want anything to do with me!”

“I honestly can’t see how this changes anything. You didn’t know the state of play before her visit – you still don’t. For all you know it could be business as usual with him. Anyway I thought you said that he wasn’t the type to listen to other people. What you loved about him, you said.”

“Yeah, I know, but-“

“But nothing.” He slapped Craig on the thigh, then levered himself to his feet. “You’re going to get back with him and nothing’s going to stand in your way. Remember? Well then – start acting like that’s the case instead of throwing a strop like a bleedin’ 5-year-old. Come on, we’re going out.”

“Oh Mark,” he protested.

“Oh Mark, “ he mimicked unkindly. “Get into that shower; put on your tightest, most form fitting jeans and that nice shirt you bought. I told you, it looks great – red’s your colour-“

“I do not feel like going-“

“I don’t care. Up!” He pulled him to his feet. “We’re going to my favourite club; we’re going to drink, we’re going to dance and we’re both going to have a bloody good time. Now get moving!”

 

**

 

It had taken a while but he was definitely starting to enjoy himself. This was the first gay club he’d been to and he didn’t know for certain but was pretty sure that it bore no resemblance to the club John Paul had braved the previous year. For a start it cost an arm and a leg to get in and secondly, there was not a drag queen or naked arse in sight - very tasteful, very exclusive, something which he, for one, definitely appreciated. He might be exploring his sexuality but was pretty sure that he’d never find masses of naked male flesh all that appealing...

He and Mark had danced as promised and were drinking now, seated at one of the small tables near the edge of the dance floor.

He was pleasantly buzzed and leaned over to tell Mark so:

“Yeah thanks for this,” he said directly into his ear.

“Told you didn’t I?”

“Yeah and next time I’ll listen. Promise.”

“Hmmm. Craig?”

“What?”

“How do you feel about being hit on?”

He grinned, gripped Mark’s thigh. “Well I don’t have a yen for public sex and you should know by now that I’m a sure thing...”

“Funny. No, I meant being hit on by a complete stranger – in a club.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yeah this guy’s been staring at you pretty much ever since we arrived.”

“What’s he like?”

“So you don’t mind?”

“Well, I don’t know, probably, but I can’t hide it away forever, can I? And obviously if I _flaunt_ it-“ He laughed at the expression on Mark’s face. “No, seriously, I’m a bit nervous and I’m not really up for it, but I can’t hide away and anyway you’re here – if things get away from me I’ll signal and you jump in okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t let you get raped in the toilets or anything.”

“Oi I can look after myself. What?”

“He’s coming over. And he looks determined... Do you like blondes?”

“Well-“

“Excuse me, may I have this dance?”

Craig hesitated; he had to get used to this, used to everyone sounding like John Paul. He’d been in Manchester for a week and could still be frozen by the unexpected sound of a man who sounded like his lover. He’d got so used to not hearing that accent – except when he was with Mark - that coming back to England had been a bit of a culture shock. But this sounded so much like John Paul that he was almost afraid to look, afraid of not being able to handle the inevitable disappointment...

“I’m sorry I-“ he began, turning.

“I promise I’ll hand him back in one piece.”

Craig stared open-mouthed as John Paul smiled at Mark, asking permission, though his fingers were already twining with Craig’s.

“Well it’s up to him. Craig?”

He didn’t speak, hardly heard, John Paul’s hand in his the only concrete sensation he was aware of. Gliding after him to the dance floor he abruptly became aware of the blood rushing through his veins like the restless ocean on a stormy day; John Paul’s fingers on his hip, like points of heat, the caressing fingers of his other hand gently possessive at the nape of his neck. He stared at him, dimly aware of his arms winding around John’s neck, their groins fitting together as he was guided in a sensual dance, their long familiarity with each other’s bodies aiding them now since neither of them was exactly    
  
_present_   
  
.

John’s eyes looked dark in the artificial light of the club. His hair was longer; his arms, shoulders and torso more muscular too, but Craig only knew this because he’d mapped every muscle of this body – to the naked eye John Paul would seem to be exactly the same as he’d always been.

Neither of them spoke – there was nothing to say.

Well clearly nothing had changed, except, perhaps, in one vital aspect: they were in public and Craig knew that they could have been in The Dog, in full view of his mum, his brother, the entire village and he wouldn’t have cared – he’d have grabbed him and kissed him stupid and wouldn’t have given a damn who was watching.

He was dimly aware of the music changing – twice – but it was only when it became    
  
_very_   
  
up tempo and he saw movement – dance movement – around him that John removed the heat of his hands and stepped back a little. They stood looking at each other, the 15 minutes they’d just spent staring into each other’s eyes apparently not quite enough to sate that particular hunger, then John leaned in, whispered: “You know where to find me,” and walked away.

Craig stumbled back to the table where Mark was watching - eyebrow set into what seemed a permanent expression of amused enquiry - sat down heavily, grabbed his drink and knocked it back without pause.

“Steady.”

“What?”

“You - to coin a phrase – are not acting like you.” He examined Craig minutely. “So you do like blondes then.”

“Sorry?”

“You know what, forget it.” He spent a few minutes more simply watching him. “You’re trembling,” he said finally.

“Yeah.”

“I tell you what, why don’t I just take you home?”

“Yeah.”

**

 

“No, stop. Craig.” Mark pushed him gently away, his grip tightening when Craig tried to press on. “No, come on, stop.”

Craig sighed in frustration, but moved off him. “What? You want it don’t you?”

“Well yeah, I suppose I do, but not from you right now.” He sat up, piercing Craig with his steady gaze. “I know you sometimes think of him when you’re fucking me and-“ He put up a restraining hand, “I usually don’t mind – honest - but this time I do. A bit too obvious, mate - kinda insulting.”

Craig met his eye, unable to think of a single thing to say to this. Sorry seemed much too lame.

“That was him, wasn’t it? The guy you’re refusing to talk about. You know, I thought we were friends; thought you knew you could trust me not to get jealous-“

“I do, I-“

“Then why won’t you talk about it? You’ve been in this really weird space ever since the club and now you’re all over me in a way you’ve never been before... Did you think I was just going to let you use me as a fucking substitute and not call you on it? Is that what you did with him? No, you don’t like that, do you? Because it’s insulting, isn’t it, being treated like you weren’t important, like your feelings don’t matter.”

“It’s not like that-“

“No, well that’s what it feels like, Craig and if you don’t mind I think I’d prefer to sleep alone tonight.”

“Mark, don’t, don’t be like that. I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just- I thought I’d be able to handle it, only I expected to control when I saw him again – thought we’d set up a meeting or something and I’d be prepared. Seeing him so unexpectedly just threw me-“

“I’ll say.”

Craig bit his lip, desperate to save the situation, but still strangely reluctant to talk about John Paul. It was like he was a jewel he needed to keep polished, treasured, but most of all hidden from the light of day and Mark was the last person who’d allow him to do that. “I’m sorry.” Pathetic he knew, but he felt that all his inner resources had failed him just when he needed them most.

He felt Mark looking at him, but couldn’t meet his eye.

“He’s really got you in a tizzy, hasn’t he? Has it always been like that with you two?”

“No, not exactly. The situation we were in...” He broke off, not sure he could make Mark – or anyone else – understand what he found hard enough to understand himself. “But when we were together – in bed - it was a bit, yeah. It was always _really_ intense and toward the end when I realised that I was totally head over heels in love with him, yeah, whenever I saw him that’s how I felt, but I couldn’t show it, not in public. Tonight was the first time I’d ever touched him in public.”

“And that was quite some touching. I thought the dance floor was going to spontaneously combust if you two stayed there much longer.”

Craig smiled, but didn’t reply.

“So you going to see him?”

Craig shook his head. “You saw what it was like – not sure I’m really ready for that.”

“Hmmm,” he sounded dubious.

“He said ‘you know where to find me’ but he walked away, didn’t leave a number or anything so maybe he’s not ready either.”

“He looked pretty ready to me,” Mark observed with a leer.

Craig laughed. “Hands off!”

“What? I was just making an objective observation, though I have to admit he’s not quite what I was expecting.”

“Yeah? What were you expecting?”

“Well someone who looked a lot more like me for a start.”

Craig, genuinely startled, stared at him. “What?”

“Oh come on, it was obvious from the first time I met you that I reminded you of someone. I thought it must have been him, but that’s not exactly right, is it? Well not physically anyway. What, is it just the accent or-“

“You’re alike. I’ve never really analysed it or anything, but yeah you do remind me of him – and not just because of the accent.”

“Should I be flattered or deflated that I’m basically a proxy-“

“You know you’re not. And I’m sorry about earlier – that was brainless.”

“A little,” he agreed. “But you’re forgiven. Come here.”

Craig went, congratulating himself, not for the first time, for having the wit to cultivate this friendship, wondering now how it might be affected by John Paul’s renewed presence in his life...

 

**

John Paul lay in his familiar bed in the McQueen family home, wondering why he’d decided to walk away from Craig earlier that night. The fact that he’d even been there to see him in the first place was down to a series of fortunate events...

He and Kerr had struck up a friendship that day, culminating in Kerr driving them both up to Manchester earlier that week. Kerr had been expecting to stay with a ‘friend’ but apparently the ‘friend’ had a ‘guest’ so he’d decided to stay in a hotel instead and though he’d put a brave face on it, John Paul could tell that the situation had been a disappointment to him. So he’d made a concerted effort to spend time with him, which is why he’d been at the club in the first place, it being a favourite haunt, apparently.

Well Kerr had certainly been cheered up by focused attention from several quarters and while he’d been occupied John Paul had taken the opportunity to slip into the background, observing, with a certain amount of detached amusement, the antics around him.

He’d noticed the guy – who’d turned out to be Craig’s ‘friend’ -first because even from that distance John could see that he was a stunner and though he’d sworn off dark hair his libido certainly knew what it liked... And then he’d seen Craig when he’d got up to go to the bar and basically everything that came after    
  
_that_   
  
was one great big blur...

Kerr, strangely enough, hadn’t got off with anyone that night and despite John Paul’s protests had insisted on taking him back to Hollyoaks, so they’d left the club a little earlier than Kerr probably would normally have done. Come to think of it that’s probably why he hadn’t scored either. He seemed to have a weirdly fraternal attitude towards John Paul, acting like a big brother or how they both assumed a big brother would act, John having no brothers and Kerr being an only child. It was nice and seemed to bypass any possible sexual connotation there might have been to their friendship, which was a relief since what he needed most right now was a friend – an older, experienced, level-headed friend.

John Paul had offered him the sofa bed, making sure to warn him about the shark-infested waters that was his family home with all 6 women awake and talking, but he’d – sensibly - demurred, making a date to pick him up later that afternoon.

Craig...

What the hell had he been doing in Manchester, in a gay club, with a guy who looked like    
  
_that_   
  
?

John Paul didn’t know how he’d managed to find the courage to approach him and so boldly too, but it had all seemed pretty surreal anyway: him there, Craig there... Why    
  
_not_   
  
try the impossible?

It was the first time they’d danced and he wasn’t surprised that they fit so well; they fit in every other way, so why not this way too?

Craig had felt so right in his arms and though he hadn’t thought about it at the time that had been the first time they’d touched in public without Craig flinching or pushing him away. But then again Craig was in a gay club with a stunning guy he was obviously on really intimate terms with...

He turned on his side, deliberately forcing the bitter jealousy away.

He was tired of running after Craig; if he wanted him, he knew where to come.

 

 

 

**

“Yeah, sure. Why didn’t you tell me- Oh now you’re trying to piss me- Look, Kerr, no way you’re staying in a hotel when I’ve got- Well you should have bloody _asked_. Craig’s a friend, okay? Your room’s available like it always is. Yeah, good. Yeah? Of course I don’t mind. Dinner? Yeah I’d like that – don’t worry about him, he’s 20, he’ll eat anything. Okay, mate. See you later.” He replaced the receiver, shaking his head but smiling.

“Aye, aye. Who was that then?”

“Hmm?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Oh a friend of mine. He’s invited us out to dinner.” 

Mark was still smiling, practically hugging himself and after a minute Craig threw a cushion at him. “Yeah he sounds like the sort of ‘friend’ to you that John Paul is to me. Is he the guy    
  
_you_   
  
never talk about?”

“I do talk about him. I told you, I’ve known him for about ten years – my best mate-“

“Who you’re completely in love with only you’ve never told him.”

“Did I say that? Don’t remember saying that.”

“I filled in the blanks.”

Mark hesitated, clearly debating whether to fill in the blanks himself then sighed, put the cushion behind him. “We met when he was at Oxford-“

“Oh hoity-toity-“

“He is not. Anyway we met at a party and I think we were both interested only I was with someone and soon after he was too. And he’s not the type to play the field – he was with this guy for 7 years. Fucking bastard – treated him like dirt.” He looked at Craig. “He’s a famous ‘Hollywood star’ and for Kerr’s sake I can’t tell you who he is, but trust me you know him and you’d be gobsmacked if you knew that despite all appearances to the contrary he’s even gayer than I am. Anyway he played the game – the straight game – for all he was worth and Kerr suffered for it. He should have left him years ago but the wanker knew exactly how to keep him on the hook – emotional blackmail, the overdoses that were very carefully calculated; the appeals to his sense of decency.... You see Kerr had a pretty tough childhood. His folks were aristocrats and a bigger bunch of bastards you will never find. His dad – I swear to god he was deep into Black Magic – just from a few things Kerr let slip. He abused Kerr something rotten. No not sexually, but emotionally – damaged him, really. And his mum did too, but in a different way. Made him needy, a bit low in the self-esteem department, which you’re going to find hard to believe when you see him, but no matter how beautiful you are if the mirror you look into has been deliberately distorted for you, well... Anyway he eventually found the courage to give the prick the old heave ho but it hasn’t been easy for him. I’m giving him his space...”

Craig allowed the silence to settle knowing that he didn’t need to comment; Mark knew him well enough to count on his sympathy – and understanding. He probably couldn’t know though how much it had stung to hear about the ‘Hollywood star playing the straight game for all he was worth’ and how much it had damaged his lover to have to go along with it... Would    
  
_he_   
  
have put John Paul through that for 7 bloody years? He liked to think not, but he knew that the person he used to be probably wouldn’t have given it more than a second thought. He’d loved John, but it was a selfish kind of thing – not wanting to be without him, not really caring how much he was hurting so long as he kept saying yes...

What he’d said to Jacqui about Mark helping him was a bit of an understatement. Mark had given him the confidence to accept his attraction to men, but he’d also taught him something new about being in a relationship. For a start he didn’t seem to have a jealous bone in his body: when Craig had displayed instances of resenting sharing him with business colleagues or friends Mark had first ignored it then given him a lecture that had practically scorched him where he stood. Yet rather than resenting it the way he knew he would have only a year before he’d sat still for it and actually tried to change his attitude. Mark had reminded him that since he and Craig weren’t even in a romantic relationship he had some way to go before he’d be mature enough to handle a ‘proper’ relationship – with John Paul – who, as far as Mark was concerned, would hardly any longer be inclined to hang on to him at any cost, put up with any and all sorts of crap from him. He’d shown already that he was willing to walk away if he felt it to be in his best interests and it was in    
  
_Craig’s_   
  
best interest to bear that very salient fact in mind...

Yeah it had been a tough lecture and he’d been forced to confront truths that he would much rather not have to look at, but he’d learned from it, learned a lot.

“Does he want a relationship with you?” he asked now.

Mark looked thoughtful. “Not sure. We’re mates and most of the time that’s all there is, but now and again – and it’s always been that way – our eyes’ll meet and it’s like someone just attached an electric probe to my willy or something-“

Craig snorted. “Sounds painful.”

Mark laughed. “Yeah, and it’s not just my willy, it’s my belly – heart too –    
  
_everything_   
  
. Like in the cartoons when someone puts their finger in an electrical socket and lights up for a second? Like that. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Thought you might. I’d say we’re in love with each other, but it’s different from any other love affair I’ve ever had, cos we really are mates first and foremost-“

“Like me and JP. I loved him like a brother – well sort of – I mean I never had that kind of relationship with Jake. I don’t mean – I mean it was sort of more intimate than with Jake – god I’m not explaining this well at all. What I’m trying to say is that even before we started having sex I loved him – even before I knew I loved him I loved him, needed him, was kinda crazy about him, just not that way. It’s like even when he was sleeping with Hannah and I was kind of involved in that – I mean I knew what was going on - I didn’t think of him in a _sexual_ way. I mean I _really_ didn’t. 

It was only when I knew he was gay, knew he was fucking another guy that I realised that I wanted him. Weird. It was like it was only when I knew someone else had what was mine that I realised it was mine and that I wanted it.” He lapsed into silence, frowning, as he gave thought to a subject that had been puzzling him for a while. “I’ve been asking myself why John, why you, why not Sarah or Fiona and I think it’s because both of you were mates first. With Sarah it was like instant attraction – you know – normal stuff - boy meets gorgeous girl and is smitten kind of thing. Sort of the same with Fiona – I was looking for uncomplicated and she was that alright – well up until the end anyway. With John Paul it was like he was everything I wanted in a ...partner... only he was a bloke so I couldn’t fuck him, couldn’t fall in love with him, certainly couldn’t marry him. So I kept him as a mate and fucked her – had the proper relationship with her, gave her everything I should have been giving to him. It was only when I realised that someone was encroaching on my territory that I woke up and admitted to myself that he was more than a mate to me. I just couldn’t let him be with this other guy cos the truth was he was mine and I was letting this wanker do what I should have been doing, what was mine to do. Yes I know what it sounds like, but you can’t understand how I felt, how fucking mental it was inside my head. I had this really fantastic girl who was crazy about me and there I was in love – and mad, mad lust – with my best friend, so much so that I couldn’t give him up even though I knew if anyone found out we were seeing each other it would jeopardise my future – not just personally with Sarah, but also in terms of my identity, my standing in the village. I feared and hated the thought of being labelled ‘gay’ but I just could not give him up.

I told you how often me and Sarah broke up and it did hurt, but toward the end I have to admit that it was more my pride that was hurting. Plus I was using her as a cover – but not because I didn’t have feelings for her – I did. It’s just I thought the ‘arrangement’ I had was the best solution – for me, of course, not them. I didn’t think me and John would survive us being outed, so I convinced myself that keeping it secret was something I was doing for us. I’m telling you how I felt then – it’s not how I feel now. I was such a plank – a stupid, selfish wanker and I hate myself for it. I hurt him so much – Sarah too, of course, but it wasn’t the same. She got hurt one time – it was like a short sharp shock - but for John... he was hurting for months and months, every day having to watch me with her, share me with her, take a back seat to her... I can’t believe I put him through that. And it wasn’t like it didn’t hurt me – it made me sick sometimes when I saw the look in his eyes, the pain there. And he hurt me too – not deliberately, but every time he told me no, every time he said it was over it hurt so much I thought I was going to die.

It made me sick to my stomach, desperate: I would have done almost anything to win him back; swallowed my pride, debased myself... You’d have thought that would have been enough to make me do the right thing, enough to make me admit that I needed to be with him no matter the cost, but it wasn’t. I still didn’t have the guts to let everyone know I loved him, couldn’t come clean about my feelings. It’s different now.” He met Mark’s eye. “Last night, in the club, I wanted to kiss him and I didn’t care who saw us and yeah I know it was a gay club, but it wouldn’t have mattered where it was. I mean a year before I wouldn’t even have    
  
_been_   
  
in a gay club, so what’s that tell you?”

“That I’m a wicked bad influence?”

“That too.” He accepted Mark’s affectionate peck with a smile. “But we’re the same – well kind of. I mean you fell in love with him because you got to know him – as a mate – before anything else really developed...”

 

“Yes, that is true. I was attracted – instantly – but after a while when I saw that it wasn’t going down that route my feelings changed, deepened, really. I mean it’s been 10 years and we’ve had our ups and downs – mostly due to that wanker he was seeing –“

“Go on, tell me who it is.”

He saw Mark hesitate before shaking his head. “Can’t – maybe he’ll tell you himself, but don’t count on it. Put it this way if any of his films come on or he’s on some talk show or something you’ll know it by the fact that the tv’s developed a gaping hole where I’ve put my size 10 through the screen.”

“Okay, I’ll look out for that subtle clue then.”

“Anyway, we’ve had our trials, but we’ve remained rock solid throughout and even though there have been times when we came close to going to bed something always seemed to stop us. I think we both knew -deep down - that we’d be together when it was right so we’ve waited. And it’s been good, great in fact: building a relationship without all the usual... relationship crap... getting in the way.”

“Yeah,” he said wistfully, remembering the relationship crap he’d endured with Sarah, how easy, in comparison, everything with John Paul had been...

“But he’s been single for a couple of years now and I think I’ve waited long enough so I’m ready to start...courting him...” He looked unusually sheepish at this and Craig couldn’t help laughing.

“You should see your face. You look like you just confessed to being a pedo or something.”

“Well it’s not really my style.”

Craig shook his head, genuinely amused. “You know, I think I’m going to really enjoy this.”

“ _You’ll_ be back in Dublin.”

“Oh so you’re going to wait until I’m out of the picture before you humiliate yourself-“

“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you?”

“Hmmm.” A thought had just occurred to him. “Do you think maybe I should ‘court’ John Paul? I never really went on a date with him or anything and we were never open in public... What?”

“Weren’t you the one taking the piss a minute ago? So ‘courting’s’ okay now?”

“I don’t know – it does seem a bit ...gay...but I sort of want to do it – for him, show him how much he means to me, show him that I’m not taking him for granted, that just because we’ve slept together that I don’t automatically think he’s a sure thing.”

Mark bit his lip in an apparent effort to keep from laughing. “Yeah, good idea and you know, it will really work with him – him not thinking that you think he’s a sure thing...”

“Well there’s no need to be so cynical. It’s important to me. And anyway he isn’t a sure thing-“

“Well from where I was sitting last night I would have to strongly dispute that...”

Craig made a face. “Well I’m doing it anyway. I want it – it’ll be nice to take things slow. I did it with Sarah and the other girls I dated – never did it for him.”

“Because he’s a bloke and blokes don’t get courted?”

“Well yeah, that too, but – well I never did show him the respect I should have, the respect I showed the girls. Yeah I’m going to make a real effort to show him that he’s special.”

Mark nodded, no longer teasing. “Yeah, good idea and I’ll help if you need me to.”

“Won’t you be busy doing your own courting? Knowing you it’s going to be all over the top gestures and events that need a logistical expert or something...”

“Now, now you’re too young to be so cynical. And Kerr’s a low key sort of guy. He’s not like us – flamboyant is not in his vocabulary-“

“Oi it’s not in mine either,” he protested.

“Yeah, whatever. How about your JP? Would he be into the over-the-top gestures?”

“Well yes and no. He’d like it cos it was me doing it and he’d appreciate me showing him I think he’s special, but he’s a pretty low key guy too, I suppose. A bit of a cynic – not really all that much of a romantic.”

“Oh don’t you believe it. I bet he’s more of a romantic than you think.”

“Yeah?”

“Well we’ll soon find out, won’t we?”

 

**

 

Kerr – or maybe the blame should be laid squarely at his door – had made the mistake of actually coming to the house to pick him up. Maybe he should have been more emphatic in his warnings about the family. Whatever, it was too late now – they were on him, appearing from every corner of the house, the presence of chum in the water obviously too much to resist.

He’d tried to be assertive, he really had, but a combination of Kerr’s manners and his sisters’ lack of the same had made his efforts meaningless. Although to be fair, Kerr seemed to be handling himself well. Of course he had to be used to the attention – with looks like that you’d soon go mad if you didn’t find a way to handle the attention...

So he sat back and let them get on with it, trusting that Kerr would signal him when he couldn’t take any more.

He was pouring himself his fourth cup of tea when Jacqui came in, a strange, almost - well he’d have to say    
  
_gleeful_   
  
expression on her face. “Alright sis. Long time no see.” He accepted her kiss. “Want a cup?”

“Yeah, go on then.” 

He felt her watching him. “What?”

“That bloke in there – bit tasty.”

He rolled his eyes. “He’s gay, Jacq.”

“Well I know that – that’s what I mean: bit of a step up from Craig, eh?”

He felt his lips purse in annoyance, but turned away rather than engage in a row with her.

“I’m not dissing him or anything.”

“Aren’t you? You know how I feel about him, Jacq. That-” He nodded to where Kerr was valiantly resisting Carmel’s cleavage attack, concentrating on keeping his eyes on her face as she leaned into him. “Has nothing to do with Craig. He’s a friend, that’s all. He is not a sign that I’m over him, cos I’m not and I don’t want to be either, so...” He saw the sudden gleam of worry in her eye and knew that she was keeping something from him, but fighting with herself to keep stum. “Look Jacqui you might as well say it – you’re obviously bursting to.”

 

“I-Look, John Paul I just worry about you. You’re holding a candle for this guy, yet you haven’t seen him in nearly a year. For all you know-“

“I saw him last night and yeah he was with someone.” He felt a measure of satisfaction as he registered her stunned expression. “I danced with him for 20 minutes – at a gay club – and I can tell you that he hasn’t ‘moved on’ any more than I have.”

“Wha-? Run that by me again. You saw Craig last night at a gay club? Where?”

“Manchester.”

“Oh he was with Mark?”

“Sorry?” It was his turn to look gobsmacked. “What did you say?”

“Erm... I-“

“Have you been keeping tabs on him?” he demanded, outraged.

“I was doing you a favour, sussing him out, seeing if he could be trusted-“

“You what?” He was aware that his raised voice had attracted the attention of the others but couldn’t bring himself to care. “It wasn’t your business to decide if he could be trusted. How the hell would you feel if I went behind your back, vetting your fella to see if he passed muster? I don’t believe it. I confided in you, _told_ you how much I loved him. How dare you do this, Jacq! No, get off! You make me sick, the lot of you – interfering, trying to run my life. Why do you think I ran away to the other end of the country? To get away from you lot, you bunch of interfering cows-“

“John Paul!“

“No, just- just leave it will you? Kerr? Come on, we’re leaving.”

“John Paul-“

“I won’t be back tonight,” he announced, ushering a bewildered, embarrassed Kerr out the door. “Don’t wait up,” he added viciously, slamming the door as hard as he could. 

Why the hell had he come home? How was anything any different from the way it had always been?

He followed Kerr to the car, shaking his head at his friend’s enquiring look. “Let’s just get out of here. Please.”

“Sure. Buckle up. And relax, John: talk if you want or just drop it - either way is fine by me.”

“Well I’ll drop it if that’s okay then.”

“No problem. Enjoy the drive.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning his head against the car window. 

His evening had just been ruined by his sisters, but hey what was new?

 

**

 

The drive – taken at a cracking pace by Kerr – had elevated his mood – a little - and he made a concerted effort to get the rest of the way there by sheer force of will. This dinner was obviously important to Kerr and he wasn’t going to let his sisters ruin it for either of them. And anyway he was looking forward to meeting this friend of Kerr’s. Kerr hadn’t said too much about him, but it was obvious that they were good friends, possibly a little more than that, so he fully intended to make a good impression, make the evening go well for his friend.

It didn’t start well...

They had been driving through the suburbs of Manchester, heading toward the centre when Kerr took an unexpected detour, ending up, after a leisurely drive, on an exclusive estate, gated and patrolled by efficient looking security personnel. John Paul stared at Kerr in alarm, but he was in a world of his own and didn’t appear to notice.

“He lives here?”

“Sorry?”

“Your friend – he lives here.”

“Yeah, just a short drive and we’ll be there.“

John Paul didn’t reply, his mood rapidly souring. This was going to be an absolute disaster! The last thing he wanted – especially in his less than sunny mood - was to spend time with some rich, up himself...yuppy... pillock! Why the hell hadn’t Kerr warned him? Well too late now: he couldn’t spoil it for him. He’d just have to make the effort to be as polite as he could in the face of what was sure to be sly digs at his accent, his appearance, even his income - or lack thereof... And if the guy was gay then he’d probably be really bitchy too... God what    
  
_had_   
  
he let himself in for?

They eventually pulled up in front of a substantial white building. He couldn’t call it a house, though it probably once had been occupied by a single family: now he thought it must be divided into flats and was proved right when he came closer and noticed a discreet row of bells and intercoms. Still, there weren’t that many flats so they were probably huge, the purchase price not leaving much change from a couple of million (unlikely that there’d be any renters here). Oh and he probably shouldn’t call them    
  
_flats_   
  
– apartments, that’s what they’d be called. God this was going to be a bloody nightmare!

“You okay, John?” Kerr had a hand on his arm, a mildly puzzled expression on his face.

Forcing a smile, John Paul shook his head. “Just a bit rich for my blood. Not used to travelling in such a rarefied atmosphere.”

Kerr’s response was a rude snort. “Oh you’re in for a shock, then – Mark’s as common as muck – and yeah you can tell him I said that. Look don’t worry – he’s got money and he can be a bit flamboyant with it, but he’s...he’s, well he’s a wonderful person and I guarantee that after a minute - possibly less - in his company you’ll forget any misconceptions you’ve formed. Yes I can see the steam coming from your ears, John Paul. I hate the wealthy too – well the sort of wealthy wanker I think we’re both thinking of. But no, Mark’s not one of those. The guy’s just got a talent for making money – that’s all it is. He doesn’t worship it, doesn’t think it makes him better than anyone else. As he would say it’s just a by product of him utilising his very particular talent, just as ours is making people feel a certain way with our writing - and you, of course, with your music. So come on, relax.” He smiled and slung an arm around John Paul’s shoulders. “Come and meet the love of my life.”

He blushed as he said this and John Paul recognised that he’d just been given a very special gift. Okay then, even if this Mark turned out to be a pillock no way was he going to let that affect the attitude he’d just decided to adopt for Kerr’s sake.

He’d like him even if it killed him.

 

**

 

Craig parked the car in the underground garage and hurried to the bank of elevators. He loved this place; secluded, luxurious, exclusive. He’d absolutely kill to live somewhere like this and Mark, the sly prick, had been right – being up close and personal with the lifestyle had pretty much made up his mind for him. Mark had gone to great pains to assure him that he wouldn’t have to give up his studies to run the first business and he’d since decided that this was what he’d do – finish his degree, see where he was in 3, make that 4 years time...

Even if Mark had nothing but contempt for conventional businesses Craig recognised the value in the traditional business model and wasn’t about to burn all his bridges just because there was an easier, painless way to make money. It wasn’t just about making money anyway: he really liked the challenge of getting to grips with the stats, the economics, the marketing – he loved it all and looked forward to putting it into practice in the real world.

Anyway he was late; Mark’s guests were probably already there. He would have preferred to already be in the flat when Mark’s friend arrived, not exactly marking territory, but he was a little anxious about being displaced as the focus of Mark’s attention. It had been a delight to be Mark’s friend and lover and he was reluctant to lose the feeling that privileged position had given him. Still, everything was changing and he had to learn to accept that. And maybe he’d got too cosy with Mark – no demands, great sex, unconditional love and support. Maybe it was good that Kerr was on the scene because the truth is Mark wasn’t his and though he’d worked on the possessiveness thing he knew he wasn’t quite there yet; knew that any longer and he’d not want to give him up. And he had to – John Paul was not going to tolerate sharing again, not that Craig thought there was any chance of him wanting to sleep with anyone other than John Paul. Yet he knew himself well enough to accept that he had a selfish streak, always wanting the best of all worlds, probably inclined to keep sleeping with Mark, just because he liked it and didn’t see why he should give it up.

Sighing impatiently he exited the elevator and made his way to Mark’s door.

He owned the penthouse apartment, larger than several houses put together and Craig was astonished each and every time at the perfection of Mark’s home. He hadn’t even known places like this existed and certainly not in the heart of Manchester, but there was a lot he’d learned and was continuing to learn at Mark’s knee...

As he closed the door behind him he heard unfamiliar male laughter and found himself smiling too – that was the effect Mark had on people – when you weren’t lusting after him you’d be holding your sides.

“Hey,” he said, readying his friendly, open, charming face for the ‘visitor’ (the fact that Kerr had his own bedroom here made that a bit of a misnomer) and stopped for a fraction of a second when he clocked the guy who was standing in front of one of the floor length windows, glass of wine in hand. Mark had hinted – once- that he was a looker, but this was completely unexpected. He had several reactions: awe, jealousy and a sharp feeling of inadequacy. How had Mark even looked twice at him when he had this waiting in the wings?

“Ah you’re here – Mark assured me that once you got your arse into a clothes shop we’d be forced to prise you out with a crowbar!” He gestured to the bags he was carrying. “So you only managed to empty the one shop then.”

“Well I did try to do the others, but there wasn’t enough room in the car-“

“Maybe next time.” His smile added to his attractiveness in a way that was just...unfair.

“Yeah people carrier next time eh?”

“I’m teasing you, but the truth is he’s just as bad-“

“I know – actually I learned it from him!”

“Yep, corrupter of youth to the end.” He sipped his drink, allowing his eyes to roam at leisure without embarrassment or subtlety and Craig stood still for it, realising after a second that there was approval in the dark gaze. “You might want to stow those in your room.” He was moving forward, smiling. “I don’t think if I wrote this anyone would believe it.” This was said in an undertone, almost to himself.

“What?”

“Just this...situation... I’m thinking either Ayckbourn, a Brian Rix farce or maybe even Shakespeare...”

Craig frowned. “Sorry, don’t get it.”

“Oh don’t worry, you will. Here.” He’d poured another glass of wine and now handed it to him. “I suggest you’ll be needing that. Go on, put your bags away and join us. Mark’s making nibbles.”

“Thought we were going out for dinner.”

“Well, yes, I’ve booked us a table, but we’ve some time yet.”

Closer now, Craig could see that Kerr’s eyes were an unusual green, the truest green he’d ever seen as an eye colour and there was a light brown smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He wanted to hate him, but found it impossible – like Mark this guy’s charm was nigh on irresistible. “It’d be nice to get to know each other – all of us.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, already mentally letting Mark go. “Well I’ll get rid of these and see you in a minute.” 

He turned just as he reached the stairs. “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing someone? Mark said you’d have a guest...”

“Oh I do.”

“Is he with Mark?”

“No. Last time I saw him he was heading upstairs – haven’t heard from him since. Maybe Mark’s ‘jokes’ made him lose the will to live and you’ll find him in the bathtub with slit wrists.”

Craig looked at him in some puzzlement, understanding that there was a joke that he was just not getting, but decided to leave it for the time being.

He wasn’t sure how he was feeling, definitely jealous, but not as gutted as he’d been expecting. Maybe if Kerr hadn’t been so bloody likeable ...

He opened the door to his room and stopped dead: John Paul was sitting on the bed, reading one of his textbooks. He was dressed for dinner in a dark suit, his longer hair blonder than Craig remembered, the colour of the shirt he was wearing bringing out the blue of his eyes. “Hey,” he said in bewilderment.

“Alright?” John Paul’s demeanour was casual as he looked across at him. “Only you would actually take your textbooks on holiday with you,” he observed, proffering the book.

Craig grinned, placing the bags in front of the wall of mirrored wardrobes. “What can I say, I’m a swot.”

“You’ve landed on your feet a bit though, haven’t you?” He was looking around the room. “Couldn’t believe it when I realised Kerr’s friend was the guy I saw you with the other night. He recognised me too, called me John Paul, much to Kerr’s delight.” He laughed. “I think he thought Mark had set up in business as a cradle snatcher or something.”

“He’d have a thriving one, I’ll tell you that for nothing.” Craig threw himself on the bed, amazed at how relaxed he was actually feeling given the shock he’d just had, not to mention the potentially awkward situation he now found himself in.

“Yeah,” John Paul agreed, still smiling. “So...” He put the book aside, made a production of meeting his eye. “You and Mark...”

“What are you asking John Paul? If we’re serious?”

“For a start, yeah.”

“We’re not in love with each other, but we’ve got a solid friendship going... How about you and Kerr?”

“Just friends. We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah, met him at Uni – end of term some of us went to this workshop type thing. He was one of the speakers. When I told him where I lived he told me about Mark, that he was spending a few weeks in Manchester with him and asked if I wanted a lift.” He shrugged. “No more to it than that. We like each other – a lot – but that’s all; we’re not sleeping together.” His expression turned penetrating, clearly waiting to hear Craig’s story, clearly wanting to discover how truthful he intended to be.

Well obviously John Paul already knew they were sleeping together, so he wasn’t going to lie about that and really he had nothing to hide anyway – or apologise for. “Well we were sleeping together, but it’s always been more like buddy fucking than anything else. He knew I wasn’t over you and he’s in love with Kerr-“

“That doesn’t stop you falling in love with someone else! You of all people should know that, Craig. Remember Sarah? Remember that you were already in love with her when you fell in love with me?” He didn’t seem angry, just a little exasperated, which Craig took as a positive sign: he really didn’t want to row with him right now.

“It was different with Sarah-“

“Craig, do you know how many times you said that to me? Do you even know what you mean by that?”

“Yeah, yes I do - now. I didn’t before, not really, and I wasn’t exactly being honest with you... I didn’t want to tell you that it was better with you because you’d have demanded that I come out and I really wasn’t ready to do that. And I didn’t fall in love with her – not like I did with you. I fancied her, started going with her and developed feelings. That wasn’t the way it happened with you. It was more like bam! Can’t stop thinking about him, want to be with him all the time...” He looked into John Paul’s eyes. “Getting butterflies in my stomach every time I saw you. I used to get butterflies with Sarah – and Darlene – but that never lasted longer than a few weeks really. I still get butterflies whenever I see you...”

“Were you in love with me the first time we slept together?”

“Yeah, but nothing like I felt later on. You know, I think sleeping with you was probably the worst mistake of my life.”

“Oh charming.”

“Well I didn’t want to be that person: a guy who wasn’t entirely straight. I think I sort of thought that I’d have sex with you, get it out of my system and then go back to being who I was. I didn’t expect it to be the way it was. When I slept with Sarah after, after I’d been with you that first time... it just wasn’t the same; I wasn’t as satisfied as I’d been before. I mean physically yeah sure it was good – she still turned me on, I still liked fucking her, but it was just better with you. And emotionally? Light years away. I know you can’t really understand because you were never that into Hannah – or girls – but for me it was...I mean I never thought sex with a man could be _better_ \- it’s just not the sort of thing anyone ever talks about. I’ll admit I used to wonder what gays got out of it - fucking another man, allowing themselves to be fucked up the arse. The thought used to revolt me, but it used to bewilder me too cos I honestly didn’t really believe that you could fall in love with another man. 

I thought gay relationships were all about sado masochism, that the guy who got fucked was a sissy who actually got off on being dominated. Yeah I know but it’s not like most people don’t think exactly the same way I did. When I started thinking about you - that way - I was shocked and confused because my feelings were so tender and even though I knew I wanted to top you it wasn’t about dominating you, it was about giving you pleasure – just like with a woman. You must think I’m an idiot – an ignorant wanker, but I’m just trying to let you know how confused I was. I mean my head was completely done in by how you made me feel. That’s what kept doing my head – if it had been just physical I could have walked away, but I just couldn’t make myself give up that...feeling... being with you gave me-“

“But you couldn’t give her up either. You could have had me – on a plate – but you kept telling me you loved her too, couldn’t choose between us-“

“Yes, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Do you think that if it was okay, normal, perfectly acceptable to be with a guy I wouldn’t have been with you? It wasn’t about choosing between two people, John Paul; it was about the rest of my life – being labelled, being _gay_. So I could be with you but be really unhappy as a gay man or be with Sarah and be happy, respectable, _normal_. Those were the choices I was faced with every time you asked me to choose and I just wasn’t ready to make the choice you needed me to. I was in love with you, but I wasn’t gay and I wasn’t comfortable with everyone judging me, slapping a label on me. I loved Sarah enough to make a go of it with her and I just couldn’t forfeit that option, except when it meant losing you. In the end I realised that anything was better than that.”

“So even though you were with me, you still hadn’t made the choice I needed you to make, had you? In the airport you were still thinking that you could wing it, one foot wedged in the doorway, holding open door number one, while leaning over and grabbing the goodies from door number two-“

Craig couldn’t help smiling a little at the picture this created in his mind, but he couldn’t fault John Paul’s unerring ability to sum up a situation. “Sorry,” he said, meaning it.

“Yeah, me too. Sorry you never sat down and told me what was going on in that head of yours. Do you not think,” He reached a gentle hand into Craig’s hair, “that I would have given you the time and space you needed if you’d just _told_ me? I wouldn’t have gone with you to Dublin. I’d have kept in touch, maybe come over on the occasional weekend - if that’s what we both wanted; would have made sure you knew what you were getting into, made sure it was really what you wanted. Don’t you know how much I love you, you dozy pillock? You surely know I’d do anything to protect you, even give you up if that’s what I thought you needed me to do...”

“You did – you did give me up. John Paul,” He buried his face in John Paul’s neck. “I was in pieces when you left me-“

“I know and I’m sorry, but I had to, had to do it. I hoped that I’d eventually believe I’d done the right thing, but this last year without you-“

“You did, you did do the right thing, cos I now know how it feels to be without you and I don’t ever want to find myself there again. I also know that being in love with another man isn’t the end of the world.” He lifted his head and grinned into John Paul’s face. “Mark’s even worse than you for the upfront gayness. I had to get used to it, so I did. And you know what, it ain’t so bad-“

“What, being gay?”

“Well, yeah I suppose, but I meant people knowing I like guys, knowing I suck cock-“

“Oh please don’t tell me these public displays of affection extended to cock sucking-“

“Funny.” They grinned at each other, then leaned in for a slow gentle kiss. Not a kiss of passion, but one of greeting almost, like lovers who are so sure of each other that words become superfluous. “Missed you.”

“Me too.” He hugged him tightly. “And can we agree on at least one thing this time round?”

“What?”

“We talk – about us, about how we’re feeling. No macho bullshit, okay?”

Craig made a face, then laughed when John Paul pinched him on the arm. “Ow! Domestic violence, good start!”

“I thought _I_ was the wife in this scenario...”

“You’re never going to let me forget that one are you?”

“Well I don’t know, if being the wife means I get to go shopping, get my hair and nails done whenever I want, live it up in a luxury pad, I might take you up on the offer-“

“But can you cook? Can you clean? Can I get sex any time I want it?”

John Paul snorted. “Is that your idea of a marriage? Sarah had a lucky escape then didn’t she?”

“So did I,” he said quietly, looking at him. “So did I.”

John Paul sighed and pulled him into an embrace. “Well I’m here and I can promise you that you’re stuck with me for the long haul.” He lowered his voice. “How do you feel about that, Mr. Dean?”

“Ecstatic, Mr. McQueen.”

“Good. Now get dressed so we can go have a slap up meal.”

“Ooh, I like it when you give me orders!”

Craig thought he detected a distinct glint in John Paul’s eye. “Which reminds me... I’ve learned a few things... maybe later on I can...show... you what I’ve learned.

Craig was pretty sure that his expression said all that needed to be said, so he settled for a simple: “Okay.”

 

 

**

 

### 

July 2023

 

Craig didn’t particularly like shopping: it was boring and occasionally very time consuming. Except when he did it with John Paul. Then it became just another expression of their togetherness. It had been 4 weeks since he’d seen him and they hadn’t even had a chance to catch up – in bed - so yeah he was horny, but still he would have been feeling the same warm glow even if they’d spent the last 4 weeks in bed. That’s just how it was with them: they still fancied each other something rotten, which he knew just didn’t happen all that often. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they maintained fairly separate lives, not even living in the same country for much of the year that they still went at each other like wild animals whenever they got together. Maybe, but he didn’t think so. John Paul was quite simply The One and he knew it was the same for JP. He’d told him so, which in itself was a gift because for all John’s skill with the written word he really wasn’t one for heartfelt declarations so whenever they came they were doubly precious.

Anyway he intended to cook them a special meal then drag JP to bed for the remainder of the day. And he for one was having a hard time keeping his anticipation in check...

He’d left John Paul wasting time at the drinks aisle, reading labels, picking up and setting down. He was hopeless when it came to alcohol, not having a wine palate at all – as long as it wasn’t too sharp he was content – whereas Craig knew his wines, not only from his time in The Dog but from the long years with Mark and Kerr tutoring him in the finer things in life. They knew better than to waste their efforts with John Paul who invariably opted for beer or lager when given half the chance.

He’d left John Paul with the trolley and was wrestling now with an armful of fresh veg. John Paul was still absorbed in reading labels apparently more than content to spend all day there. There was a woman next to him, giving him the eye. Craig was torn between amusement and annoyance. John Paul didn’t really ‘see’ women and certainly couldn’t read the subtle come-ons that most straight men would have no difficulty picking up on so was totally oblivious. She wasn’t bad looking, pretty gorgeous actually and at another time and another place he might have been flattered at her interest, but he hadn’t seen John for weeks and the possessive button he worked so hard to keep out of harm’s way had just been depressed. It didn’t matter that John wouldn’t look twice at her, wouldn’t even see her as any sort of option; she was encroaching on his territory and he simply wasn’t able to tolerate that.

He dumped the veg in the trolley and ordinarily that might have been enough to do the trick -mark them as a couple - but not for Craig, not today. “Hey,” he said into John Paul’s ear, kissing it, allowing his hand to sneak under the back of his t-shirt, then down to his arse. “I don’t want you drunk tonight.”

John Paul licked his lips then took Craig’s earlobe gently between his teeth. “That was going to be my line. That’s why I was looking for the ones with the lowest alcohol content.”

Craig sought his mouth in a slow kiss, the woman forgotten. “Don’t worry. The only thing I’m getting drunk on tonight are your kisses.”

John Paul pulled him close, hands caressing his arse. “It’s lines like those that make me the writer and    
  
_you_   
  
the business mogul.”

“And I wanna hear some words tonight, Mister.”

John Paul leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I’d suck you off right here if I didn’t think it’d get us arrested - for breaking all these bottles. Well    
  
_you -_   
  
you know how you get when I do that thing with my tongue.”

Craig closed his eyes, swallowing hard, the arousal caused both by John’s presence and his words getting to him. “Do me in the car,” he urged.

John Paul laughed and pulled away. “And have you nearly write us off again? I learned my lesson the last time. No, we’ll finish here, go home, cook, shower, eat...” He licked his lips again, then lowered his eyes to take in Craig’s very interested cock. “Then we’ll see what ...comes up.”

“Bastard.”

 

**

 

If she had to deal with another snotty nose tonight she’d scream – or kill someone, or scream while killing someone... She loved her kids, loved her sisters’ kids but there was a limit. What was it about the McQueen genes that produced so many bloody offspring – mouthy offspring? Well she couldn’t talk – her three were amongst the mouthiest of the lot, but she’d been pretty strict with them all the same – they didn’t mouth off to their elders, didn’t do drugs, didn’t go on the rob, certainly didn’t mix with the dregs of society. Not that the school they attended or the neighbourhood in which they lived was stuck up or anything, but the people were decent hard working folk who wanted something better for their kids.

John Paul and Craig had helped with the deposit for the big semi - they’d helped all her sisters with their houses. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it – they were both well off. Well no, John Paul was well off – Craig was rolling in it! When she’d joked to John Paul about Craig being a multi- millionaire he’d merely shrugged and changed the subject, which in John Paul speak meant yeah he was and John Paul didn’t like talking about it. She knew it wasn’t a source of friction between the two of them - even though they ran different households and John Paul certainly didn’t live the millionaire lifestyle – simply because    
  
_nothing_   
  
was a source of friction between them. Of all the couples she knew they were the most ridiculously, nauseatingly, happily in love she’d ever come across. John Paul was, in fact, the only one of the McQueen siblings still in a relationship with his primary partner. She had two failed marriages behind her: Mercy three: Carmel was living with a woman: Tina was a widow and Michaela was a single parent who’d never married. And John Paul took care of all of them – the way he always had: allowing the kids to stay with him when everyone needed a break, mentoring them really, loving them, being a great uncle. And Craig had always been there, involved in every aspect of John Paul’s life – the good and the bad. As John Paul’s partner he was simply part of the family and the kids loved him, not just because he was a rich uncle but apparently he was ‘mega cool’ too. 

And now they were getting married.

Everyone had expected them to take advantage of the law change ten years before, but since it was John Paul, her stubborn little brother, they had to do it in their own time – not when it was fashionable, but when they wanted to. Besides, John Paul and his writing partner Kerr Will-Owen were sort of famous and he definitely wouldn’t have wanted the press anywhere near his wedding. So here they were, tying the knot after 15 years and being typically low key about it all. With the people they knew, famous names from all over the world – Hollywood stars and everything – it seemed natural to have a big expensive event, but apparently not when you were John Paul and Craig. She’d known that it was a waste of time trying to get John Paul to change his mind, so she’d tried working on the weaker link, but no dice. He was, apparently, ‘with JP’ hated ‘the thought of showing off for the rest of the world’ ‘only wanted to officially make things legal so JP can get it all when I’m gone’ and ‘show everyone who still doesn’t know that I’m crazy in love’... and so on. It had not been a productive phone call plus he’d sounded like he was in a tunnel or something, which knowing Craig was probably not too far from the truth. She’d never been able to understand their relationship. They’d never lived together, spent most of their time with the partners of their best friends – Craig with Mark and John Paul with Kerr – spent lots of time on different continents, yet they were absolutely crazy about each other. While most people would say that absence made the heart grow fonder she knew that they’d also say that long distance relationships didn’t work. And for most of the people she knew this arrangement would have spelled death to the relationship. And for someone as jealous and possessive as Craig was or used to be (Craig and John Paul had both regaled her with variations on the theme) the arrangement seemed calculated to drive him to insanity. Yet 15 years in and they were still going strong: no affairs, no one night stands, totally monogamous. Craig had once confided to her – they’d both been drinking – that he still got butterflies in his stomach whenever he heard John Paul’s voice over the phone; that he still got turned on by a look or just seeing him in a certain pair of jeans; that the reason he never looked elsewhere was because he had everything he needed in John Paul, couldn’t honestly imagine anyone more perfect. Jacqui had been both jealous and proud that her beloved little brother had been able to find what none of the rest of them had.

 

 

 

 

A/N Ooops! Well I’m leaving it there – if I feel like drowning in syrup at some time in the feature I’ll do the wedding and some more relationship (and family) stuff :D

**Author's Note:**

> It's incomplete as you can see, but I believe I pretty much said what I wanted to say at the time.
> 
> If you want a more satisfying McDean story I'd go with Comfort Zone and sequels.


End file.
